#band of brothers one shot

[indigo-graves]

Rusty pt. 2 |Lewis Nixon|

---SMUT AHEAD--- 18+

Nixon knew better than to respond to her words with the force of every kiss he had stopped himself from planting on her full, pouted lips over the past three years. There were moments where he was so intoxicated (both figuratively and literally) by her that he thought he may reach his breaking point. Had he known there was a similar eagerness within her, this day may have come far sooner. 

The way she looked up at him through her long lashes caused a tension in his lower abdomen that she would soon feel the result of, pressed so close against her form. He surveyed the room, taking inventory of just who in the company was even paying attention to the heat radiating from the pair of them in the center of the room. With a war won and a store of alcohol to last them years, they were little more than just furniture for the rest of them to oscillate around. 

“Nina…” Nixon spoke gently, leaning forward so his lips were nearly against the shell of her ear. “Tell me I’m dreaming.” 

She giggled at the softness of his breath on her skin, “meet me upstairs in five minutes.” When she moved away from him, he immediately felt the ghost of her against his body. There was not a single man in Easy Company, despite how chivalrous they had always been to her, that would not shoot off a toe to be in his position. 

Five minutes was both five seconds and five lifetimes while he attempted to make his way naturally towards the doorway of the main room. Grateful for his tendency to disappear to a footlocker full of booze, he realized that it was not likely that many would notice his absence anyway. As he climbed the stairs, he wondered if there was going to be a moment where she would realize that it was him that she was taking to bed, not some other more decorated man from the Company. It was only when he missed a step at the top of the staircase that he reminded himself that wallowing could happen any other inebriated night of his life. Tonight, he steeled himself, he was going to get the girl. 

Two light knocks on Nina’s bedroom door with the back of his knuckles was as coy as he could play it. When she said “come in” from behind the oak barrier, he found the knot in his stomach clench. 

“Why do you look so pale, Nix?” Nina giggled. She was standing at the dresser in the bedroom, slowly unpinning her hair from its once meticulous place. As he watched each curl bounce free, he felt the heat in his neck and ears. The intimacy of watching a woman take down the trappings of pristine femininity to their natural state was something that had only occurred in his marital bedroom. Never before, never since.

He watched as she placed the pins in a trinket dish on the dresser, crossed the room in her bare feet, the line she drew in her stride slightly askew from the alcohol. He felt the effects the liquor had on himself as well, hopeful that it would not impede his performance--should he make it that far. 

Nixon watched as Nina’s tongue wet her lips, watched as they parted into a sweet smile. She reached up and gently touched the hair at his forehead, tucking it back to the side. His eyes studied her face as if he was going to be tested on the slope of her nose, the freckles on her cheeks, the slight gap between her two front teeth, the scar in her right eyebrow. 

“Kiss me,” she whispered. Her voice took on a tone he had never heard from her before. He had heard her scream, yell, cheer, and laugh, but the siren song he was hearing in that moment was something entirely new. As new as the flicker that darkened her eyes. 

The moment Nixon leaned down to close the space between them, it was if every inch of self doubt had been resolved. The way she hummed against his mouth let him know that she was just as hungry for him as he had been for her. He reached up and held her jaw softly, his other hand tracing her back and down over her hips. She flicked the softness of her tongue into his eager mouth and he felt a twitch grow into a throb in the confines of his uniform. Never in his life had he felt himself light ablaze under the simplest of touches. 

When Nina pulled back, she was breathless. Her swollen lips were parted, ghosts of red lipstick on both of their mouths. She gripped his shirt in a fist that loosened as she composed herself. 

“Lew…” She breathed, it was only the second time she had ever used his first name, the first time it had been shortened by her affection for him. 

“I can’t tell you how fucking long I’ve waited to do that,” his confession bubbled from his lips before he could tell her. Drunk on liquor or passion, he couldn’t tell where one stopped and the other began. 

“Well, if you can’t tell me,” she breathed, reaching up and starting to unbutton his shirt with delicate fingers. She looked up into his eyes and smiled coyly, “can you show me?” 

“Fuck,” he sighed as she ran her fingertips down over his chest, just the undershirt between them. “Absolutely.” He smiled, leaning down to kiss her deeply. 

They worked together to get his shirt over his shoulders and onto the floor. His undershirt was soon after. Every muscle that she had watched move beneath his uniform was exposed. Every single one she had considered in her idle time over the last three years were soon to be hers to touch. 

There was a beat between the two of them where he checked her eyes for any hesitation while his fingers gently toyed with the zipper at the back of her dress. She nodded, a small smile of appreciation at her lips. When he started to pull down the zipper, his fingertips traced over the exposed skin over her spine. Her skin erupted in goosebumps under his touch. She bit her lip and pulled her shoulders in as he worked to get the fabric down over her arms. With every piece of her that became more and more exposed, he felt his heart start to race. 

There was a part of her that worried about the amount of women he had undressed and how the curves of her body compared. Before the war, there had only been one other man to peel away both physical and emotional layers to her to connect so deeply. She wondered if the significance of the fire they were dancing dangerously close to meant just as much to him. One thing was certain, she decided, Lewis Nixon’s hands were the only hands she wanted on her body from this moment forward. 

When her dress hit the floor and she stood there, vulnerable, in front of him, Nixon felt something animalistic ignite in him. It took everything in him not to tear the remaining fabric from her body and cover every inch of her with his mouth. In attempts to avoid acting on this instinct, he met her lips in a deep, hungry kiss. He guided her backward toward the bed, her hands working deftly on the buckle of his belt. She groaned when her hand made contact with the anticipation growing in his pants. He sucked in a breath and bit playfully at her lower lip. He left a trail of eager kisses from her lips down over her jaw, feeling the giggle that resounded in her throat vibrating against his mouth. 

When his pants hit the floor, he felt the immediate relief from the confines of the fabric. She toyed with the elastic of his boxers, watching him shudder in response. He reached up and tangled his hands in her hair, pulling her close for another kiss to distract her. If she got too handsy, he may not make it to the main event. When he kicked himself out of the legs of his pants, he reached around and skillfully unclasped her bra. 

There was no sexy, coordinated way for Nina to get herself back onto the bed. As she crawled, Nixon admired her figure from behind, wondering what he had done in his lifetime to find himself this lucky. Unable to tally it, he shook away the thought and watched as she giggled, laying herself back on the pillows, her hair fanning out around her. Unconsciously, he adjusted the length in his boxers, pulled his socks from his feet, and followed her onto the bed. 

“God,” he let his eyes dance over her in appraisal. “You’re incredible.” 

Nina rolled her eyes, the heat in her cheeks was not foreign to her. Lewis Nixon had a way of making her flush pink that had been a noteworthy occurrence Easy had not let her forget. She often told them it was only his rank that made her nervous, not the man himself. But God, it was everything about him. 

“So,” he leaned down and kissed her lips tenderly, “god,” he kissed her cheek, “damned,” he kissed her neck, “beautiful.” She giggled when he pressed the kiss to her shoulder, his hands cupped both of her breasts. When his thumbs simultaneously brushed against her nipples, she whimpered softly, arching up into his palms. Her hand gently, toyed with his hair, running her fingers back through it as he leaned down and took her nipple into his mouth. Slowly circling his tongue in an effort to elicit more gorgeous new sounds from her parted lips. 

Nixon groaned as he worked his tongue, lips, teeth, and fingers over her exposed chest. At the same time, the placement of his body between her legs encouraged her hips to connect with his, calling forth a growl from his throat he had not anticipated. He was beginning to recognize the need he had for her was something wildly foreign and exciting to him. The fear that lingered in the back of his thoughts would have to be tended to in the moments following the plans he had to explore every inch of her body.

When he kissed down over her stomach, he started to feel her muscles tense in her abdomen under his lips. He looked up at her as he toyed with the waistband of her underwear, searching for permission. She bit her lip, eyebrows furrowed with concern. 

“What is it?” He asked, gently placing a hand on her thigh. He traced a delicate pattern on her skin. 

“I..” There was that pink in her cheeks he had often worked so hard for. He smiled gently and kissed her hip.

“You can talk to me,” he repositioned himself so that he was at eye level with her once more. 

“I’ve never had anyone…” She nodded down toward her underwear, where Nixon idly was toying with the satin bow at the elastic. “Use their mouth.” Nixon’s eyebrows raised and he grinned. He leaned down and he kissed her temple gently, his hand reaching up and fingering a strand of her hair. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to…”  He couldn’t help but let out a throaty laugh. He rolled on top of her, brushing his nose against hers, then his lips against hers. “You can’t make me do something I’ve spent half the damn war thinking about.” He captured her lips in an urgent kiss, his hand slithering down over her stomach and dipping confidently into her underwear. “Mmm,” he groaned, the moment his finger dipped into the heat between her legs. When she gasped, he caught it in a kiss, greedily swallowing every sound that he earned with the deft work of his fingers.

#fan fiction #fan fiction update #fanfic #fanfic update #band of brothers #BoB #band of brothers fic #band of brothers one shot #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers preference #band of brothers fan fiction #band of brothers fan fic #band of brothers fanfic #BoB Fanfic #BoB fan fiction #BoB fic #BoB one shot #BoB Smut #band of brothers smut #band of brothers smut fic #lewis nixon #lewis nixon fic #lewis nixon one shot #lewis nixon smut #hbo war #hbo war fic #hbo war smut

[serendipitysae]

Querencia ( Joseph D. Liebgott x Reader )

querencia/ kɛˈrɛnθɪə,Spanish keˈrenθja,keˈrensja/

noun ; querencia; plural noun: querencias

Sanctuary.

( POST WAR !!! fluff and maybe a smidge of angst ?)

01.00 AM. 

19th July, 1946, Yuma, California. 

1 cup of self raising flour, 1 cup of granulated sugar, equal parts. Wisk together in a bowl, before adding 1 large egg. 

Feel free to stir together using your hands. 

In a pan, arrange the canned-peach slices, before half of the reserved peach juice on top. After this, apply the doe on top of the peaches. Then drizzle a ½ cup of melted butter. 

Bake in a preheated oven for forty five minutes until golden brown, serve with cold ice cream and rest of the peach juice. Easy peasy ! 

. 

Yeah right. 

You sighed irritatedly, eyebrows knit together as you crouched before the oven, one hand on the oven latch, the other holding an oven mitten. You had been sitting there for at least an hour and a half. 

You were wearing one of Joe’s shirts, over your nightgown. You pursed your lips together, scowling at the peach cobbler in the oven, which wasn’t even browning. “Come on..” You murmured quietly. You were so caught up in the baking that you hadn’t noticed the door unlocking. 

That was until you heard the soft clang of Joe’s cab car keys being thrown onto the table. “Shit-!” 

You looked over, confused as you looked up to Joseph Liebgott, your boyfriend. He stared down at you, his surprise slowly morphing into a small smile. “Wasn’t expecting you to be awake, Doll.” 

You giggled at that, an excited smile gracing your features as you stood up and jogged to him. A warmth spread through your body as you held him close, pulling him down to litter his face with kisses. “Lots of customers ?” You asked, between kisses. His lopsided grin surfaced, chuckling as he leaned into the kiss. “ Mhm, drove ‘round half the fuckin’ city swear to god.” 

“The real question is,” He began, hand trailing down to the curve of your waist. “ What are you doing up ?” He jokingly poked at your side, earning a small sigh and downwards turn at your lips. “I wanted to try the recipe for Peach Cobbler.. kind of a lost cause though.” 

A hoarse, tired chuckle left his lips, shaking his head as he pressed a kiss to your head. “What’s the occasion ?” 

You tensed up a little, clearing your throat as you looked to the oven. Your lips parted, taking a soft inhale before speaking. “ Next saturday, you know .. that reunion in indianapolis ?” 

Joe didn’t look at you, his lips pressing into a thin line as he looked to the wall. You softly moved your hand up to his cheek, gently rubbing it with the pad of your thumb. “ It’s been a year since we last saw them .. and I know Webster came to visit us last february but you know that doesn’t count.” 

Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to bring it up after his long shift, but he asked, and you had no intention of hiding things from him. 

You caught on on how his jaw clenched, eyes trained on the tiles of the kitchen wall. You would have preferred screeching of fingernails on chalk than the deafening silence. After several moments of this, he licked his lips, voice quiet. 

“I just..” 

You looked up to him. 

“I just can’t do it, Doll..” 

You felt your heart clench. He didn’t sound hurt, he didn’t sound mad or anything. He just sounded so discouraged. The way his words died on his tongue, how he couldn’t meet your eyes. 

“Oh Joe..”

You cooed, your hand moving up to his hair as you tugged him into a warm embrace. It didn’t take long for him to melt into your glow. His arms sneaked around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He didn’t cry, Liebgott rarely cried. He just savored the moment. The smell of your hair, as well as the light scent of artificial peach and flour. One hand moved to cradle your head, as his eyes closed. The gentle tugging at the roots of his hair, the soft tracings you drew on his back, it was his sanctuary. 

“My darling, we don’t have to do anything. We don’t, we can just rest.” You’d say, your voice muffled by the material of his shirt. He didn’t really respond, just a quiet hum resonating through his body. 

The two of you stood there for several minutes, until you reluctantly pulled away. You looked up at him, the soft smile on your lips never faltering as you intertwined your hands. “ Let’s get you some sleep, hm ?” 

He nodded. 

“The rocket’s empty- I’ll try the atom load of this ray gun.” You read, your voice saccharine and honey like as you read of the comic book strip. Both of your backs were pressed against the wall, Joseph’s arm around your shoulders as you read to him. His head was resting on yours, half-lidded eyes following the comic drawings as you read. 

It only took fifteen minutes before the book was tucked away in a drawer, the lights off and blanket pulled over you two. Joe lay behind you, his body pressed up to yours with his arms holding you around the torso. 

“Y/N ?” He interrupted the silence, and you hummed quietly, eyes still closed. 

“ I just .. well..” 

You shifted slightly, turning to face him. One hand moved to rest on his cheekbone, eyes opening slightly. 

“If you want to go to the reunion, you should.” Your eyebrows knit together, slowly adjusting to the light as you spotted his warm eyes. 

“What ?” 

He nodded, shuffling closer to you. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see any of those bucks again.. But, they were your team too.” You looked at him with a small, small smile as you nodded. “But- Joe, you know you don’t have to-” 

“I know.” 

You shut up, thumb tracing patterns against his jaw. He continued speaking. 

“But.. Well, if you need a ride to Indianapolis, I’ll be there. ” 

Your lip curled up into a teasing smile. “You’re saying I'll get a free cab ride ?”

“Hey, I ain’t saying anything about it being free, I just said if you need a ride.” He countered, gently squeezing your side with a chuckle. Your laughter is harmonious to him, as he closes his eyes and smiles. 

Your laughter died down, your chest fluttering. “Hey..” You’d say, quietly. You moved closer, pressing a warm kiss to his lips. Sure, Joe was tired, but he kissed you back, with as much love and eagerness as he always did. You mumbled a soft “thank you.” to his lips. 

He just shook his head, and tugged you closer to him, the sound of traffic rumbling from the balcony of your apartment.

( THIS ISN'T PROOF READ SO PLAY NICE !!! I love domestic joe : ( he's my baby boy. It's post-war, if it wasn't clear enough- uh yeah hope you guys enjoy xoxo !!!!!!)

#Joseph Liebgott x Reader #fluff #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers one shot #band of brothers #band of brothers fandom #I love me my Liebgott content #I just wanna rah rah rah I just wanna rah rah rah #Joe best boy !! #Webster actually rang the wrong doorbell like twice before finding the right apartment #he will never head the end of it. #I love you guys !! #I don't bite i promise i want more fan friends TT

[sergeant-spoons]

Fool For Love

Pairing: George Luz x Female OC

Word count: 5144

Tone: Friends to lovers, pining, angst, late-night phone calls, risky decisions, is it too late?

Summary: She’s more than a little tired at work, but then he comes on the line, after all this time, and she can’t hang up. They get to talking about their days in the war and upcoming reunions, and as it becomes increasingly clear she is hiding from him (and everyone), he resolves to bring her back to them as best he knows how—with his unerring love.

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world​​​ @thoughpoppiesblow​​​ @victoryrollsandredlips​​​ @now-im-a-belieber​​​ @50svibes​​​ @mgdln97​​​​​ @tina1938​​​ @drinkwhiskeyandsmile​​​ @ask-you-what-sir​​​ @indecisiveimpatience​​​ @whovian45810​​​ @brokennerdalert​​​ @holdingforgeneralhugs​​​ @onlyyouexisthere​​​​

I originally wrote this with Nixon but found it worked much better with George; I was also inspired to write more of George and Talbert’s friendship by the scene in “Points” where they play cards and George’s soothes Tab’s unease. This is also partially a fix-it fic, I must admit, because Talbert all but disappeared from Easy post-war. In this fic, he sticks around.

"Yes, that's exactly it."

George peered down the hall, spying the phone that was usually latched neatly over the kitchen counter now placed to Talbert's ear. His friend nodded slowly, listening to the speaker on the other end.

"Right, you're... busy." 

A muffled something from the other end that might have been 'got to run' or 'give him my love', George couldn't quite tell. Tab swiveled, shuffling over the threshold into the hall. He peered one way, missing the eavesdropper, then spotted him down the other. Waving George over, he pressed the phone to his shoulder.

"Somebody from Easy's on the line. Come say 'hi'."

George grinned. It would be good to hear from one of the guys. The annual reunion was swiftly approaching, and the time of year had rolled about when he really missed the men and the camaraderie they had shared. Sloughing off his jacket, he draped it over the countertop stools as he came up to the phone. Tab held up a finger as he fronted an introduction.

"Yeah, hey, do you have another minute?" A beat, listening. "Great. I've got somebody here who wants to speak to you." A half-smile. "Yes, it's George. Uh-huh. Okay. Talk soon."

"Heya."

Silence for a beat and George had made up his mind to repeat the greeting when:

"Hey, George."

His heart leaped into his throat, and he smoothed his palm over the receiver, swallowing hard.

"Leah." He pinched his nose. "Uh, Corporal Hedgecomb."

"Hey. Hey, how are you?"

"Good." Better now that I'm hearing your voice again. 

Had she always sounded this weary? For most of the war, yes, he remembered well, but he would have thought peacetime would restore her spirits and vigor. He missed the lightheartedness she'd born all throughout Toccoa and Aldbourne, despite Sobel, despite the war, despite the back-breaking sexism she had to carry on top of it all every damn day.

"Look, George, I'd love to chat, but I'm real busy-"

"Please don't go."

He could almost picture her pursing her lips, those sweet lips, the ones he should have kissed so long ago.

"Oh, alright." 

She leaned away from the receiver and called to someone nearby, her voice distant as she pleaded with an apparent coworker to take up her station for another few minutes. 

"I can stay a little longer."

"Good. Great." He searched for something to say that wouldn't scare her away. Realizing too late he hadn't returned the cordial question, he extended it now: "How're you, Corporal?"

"Busy," she said, and it seemed almost a joke but for the strain present in her voice when she answered. "It's not bad, though, work keeps me occupied."

He smiled fondly down at his shoes. "You haven't changed, then."

"What do you mean?"

"You said that a lot back in, uh, Mourmelon, and Hemmen."

"Did I? It seems like so long ago."

"But not long enough."

They both knew he meant the absence of war, not the distance its end put between them.

"Hear-hear. Oh, and George—you don't need to call me ‘Corporal’. We're not in the service anymore."

"Ah. Right."

A few seconds as George considered whether or not to just be out with it already or mention something less monumental. On one hand, he was running out of time, on the other, he could mess this all up with three little words and listen to the phone click off, his ardor dismissing him from her cares.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" Leah asked, soothing the tension steadily rising like a high tide up to their chests and their hearts. 

"It's good to hear your voice."

"Yeah, yours, too."

He glanced at a split envelope on the counter and gathered a question he hadn't realized was burning him up until that very instant. 

"About the reunion...?"

"Yeah, yeah. I got your letter, and the one from Sink, with the fancy seal and the flag stamp and the big, official heading-"

"You're not coming."

A long, long pause, broken only by a sigh that barely bled through the wiring.

"Yeah."

"That's not really an answer, Leah."

"No, I'm not coming."

"Why not?"

"I- it just doesn't- it wouldn't work out."

George squared his jaw, scared she was implying what he feared she always might.

"I mean, business really kicks up around here this time of the year, and I don't know if they can spare me. Not that I'm vital to the department, or anything, but any personnel they can keep will help."

"Uh-huh." 

At her slow sigh, he gathered she'd easily picked up on his skepticism.

"What's the real reason, Leah?"

She didn't answer for a good fifteen seconds. George attended his watch to distract himself from the weight of her silence.

"George, I'm sorry, but d'you really think any of the fellas wanna remember they served with a broad? No."

"What? That's bullshit! Why the hell would you think that?"

"Watch your mouth, buster, you're a bad influence."

"What?"

"If you go off like that, I'll do it, too, and I can't be swearing like a sailor anymore. I've gotta be all proper in the office."

"What about out of it?"

"Since when am I ever not at work, these days?" She scoffed wryly, drily. "Nevermind."

"Corporal Hedgecomb, I swear to God, if I have to send Bill Guarnere and Babe Heffron to kidnap you from whatever martyr's pit you've dug for yourself, I will."

She managed a chuckle, and he could tell it was more for his sake than her own. "Nah, no more foxholes for me. Or for you."

"Or Bill or Babe."

"Don't send them," she warned. "They've got families of their own, right? Kiddos to tend to and others on the way, not to mention their wives, the lovely ladies with enough smarts to handle the three brain cells those two split amongst themselves."

George snorted. "So, no envoys. Alright, I'll drive up there myself and take Perconte with me. God knows he could use the break. Can you believe he doesn't even get Christmas off?"

"No!" 

"I know, right? It's the post office, not the goddamn army-"

"No, no, it's not..." Leah audibly cleared her throat. "I meant about you, um..."

"Oh."

"What I mean to say is it's alright. I don't need the persuasion in person."

"Without it, you won't come to the reunion."

"With it, I'm more likely to stay put. So we're at an impasse."

"Alright, fine, but still, you never answered my question."

"Your question?"

"Why the heck-" He hoped she was smiling. "-would you think the men wouldn't want to remember you?"

"... If I was a man, it'd be different."

"Yeah, no shit, but I just don't get it, Leah. You were everybody's sister, cousin—heck, mother. Without you, Jackson wouldn't still have his face and Hoobler would be missing a whole lot more than a foot."

"But-"

"No. You really should come, doll, you haven't been to the last two."

"And nobody but Lip's seemed to care," she blurted in a voice small even for her five-foot-one frame. "Ignore that, please."

"No, I definitely will not." George glowered at the begonias in the calendar that hung opposite the kitchen counter. "Whoever told you I didn't care is a lying sonuva-"

"George."

It was by her tone that he abruptly understood: no one had imposed this opinion on her, she had conjured it for herself.

His cheeks flamed, akin to his heart. "Goddamnit, Leah, the only people I care as much about as you are Tab and Lip, and you know with them, it's not- it's not the same."

He knew he'd said too much when she didn't try a joke or a chuckle or even a dismissive cough. Instead, she remained silent. A muted voice, another woman's, asked her something and she replied she'd be there in a minute. Her voice returned to him as she brought it back to the receiver.

"I know you tried to find me, once."

George tried and failed to steady his breathing. He hoped Leah couldn't hear just how anxious he'd become.

"How'd you figure that out?"

"You sent Lipton to my door with the biggest bouquet in the state of New York. Now, I've never seen a man more committed to his wife than the good lieutenant, and he doesn't even live up here. What the hell could he be doing so far north other than carrying out some favor for somebody we both knew?"

"And you figured it was me?"

"I didn't have to think too hard on it once I saw the flowers."

"You remember them?"

"They were lilacs, George," she all but whispered. "You're the only one I ever told about those being my favorite."

George sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, his shoulders stiffening as the breeze against the roof of his mouth went straight to his brain.

"Lip told me you'd just about vanished."

"I wasn't home that day."

A frown creased his brow. "But you saw the flowers."

"A neighbor did, out the window-"

"Don't lie to me, Leah." He set his jaw, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "You never were a good liar."

"Fine! I was there and I didn't open the door. Happy?"

"You hid from him."

The accusation caused her to deflate, signifying its truth. He could sense the change even from the receiving end, her face invisible to his eyes, miles and miles away.

"I thought it was for the best-"

Feeling unable to endure another voice crack from the cage of weary isolation Leah had forced herself into, George interrupted. 

"The best? For who?"

"For you!"

"But not for you."

She choked on her words and coughed to regain them. 

"I'm not some pretty little housewife, George!” she cried. “The war was the only time in my life I felt reasonably put together, and like I could do something. Even better, something worth doing. Really, I don't know what I expected, after it was all over. I can hardly keep myself afloat, nevertheless- no, shit, no, pretend you didn't hear that."

"So that's it." His finger, twirling the spiraling cord around each knuckle, stilled. "You won't come because you don't want their pity."

"Or yours," she reminded with a sternness he knew she rarely possessed. "I want them to remember me better."

"If they can't see you're still our beloved-" My beloved. "-Leah, with a chocolate bar always at hand for some poor homesick sap and the best hugs in the company, then they've all gone crazy and they don't deserve the honor of knowing you."

"The honor?" She scoffed. "Come on, George."

"I mean it. They'll be glad—no, overjoyed—to see you, and if they're not, then- then I'll-"

"What am I supposed to do, pretend everything's fine? While they're off getting married and having families and buying houses and securing steady, profitable occupations, I'm wasting away in the middle of fuck-all nowhere, so far up New York state, you'd be surprised it wasn't Canada, trying not to end up on the streets and so bitterly alone I've started writing poetry! I’m writing sonnets, George, sonnets!”

Leah laughed a sob. George was already reaching for his car keys.

"I'll be there tonight."

"What?"

"I will be there-"

"No. No, you won't."

"Yes, I will. I don't care if it's a five-and-a-half-hour drive. I don't care if you're scared. I don't care if I'm the last person you want to see."

Silence for long enough he guessed she might have hung up. He'd begun to fiddle with the left cuff of his button-down when Leah finally spoke.

"You know how long it would take you to get here."

"What kind of enamored moron would I be if I didn't?"

She laughed, and George wished he could believe it was the call signal that made her sound so hopeless.

"Only if you bring Tab along with you," she said, and he got the sense she was only playing along. "Roll down the windows, the fresh air'll do him good."

"It's December. He'd rather sit in a sauna for five hours."

"Remind me why he still hasn't moved out to California yet?"

"Me," George joked half honestly. "But hey, you're getting me sidetracked. So I'll bring Tab... anything else you want me to pick up on the road?"

"Um." A pause, amid which he could guess she tried to swallow but found her throat too dry. "No."

"If you say so." He checked his watch again, something of a nervous habit. "Y'know, I could probably make it in five hours. The traffic's bound to be lighter the later it gets."

"Uh-huh. You might have to wake me, depending on how late you get here."

"You won't wait up?"

"I work three shifts for two different jobs, George. Sleep is a blessing."

"Right." He swallowed. "Well, you can call in sick tomorrow. To both jobs. And maybe for all the days after that."

"No. No, I can't do that."

"You don't think I'll actually come."

"No, I don't, because I'm really not worth the trip."

Her words sounded like a hammer falling upon a bare anvil, the elements rebounding off of each other with a deafening, heartwrenching clang.

"Leah?"

"Yeah?"

"There's one thing I won't stand from you, and it's that kind of bullshit."

"Wha- what?"

"Don't ever talk like that about my future Mrs. Luz again."

She inhaled sharply into the phone. George squeezed his wrist and prayed that what he was about to do wasn't the most reckless undertaking of his life.

"I'll see you tonight. Probably with a ring. No, not probably. Definitely."

Leah squeaked.

"Damnit, I love you, and I'm not about to stand here while your neverending, wonderful, harmful selflessness keeps you away from the great thing we could be. And from your friends! And happiness! But mostly me. Because I'm selfish like that. But hey, if it means saving you-"

He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

"-then I'll be the most selfish man in the world."

"George-"

"I love you. See you in five hours."

He shoved the phone so jaggedly into its cusp that he missed the latch entirely and the implement took a bungee jump toward the kitchen floor. Yelping a curse, he swung it back up and placed it where it belonged, stepping back from the counter with a long sigh. He glanced at the liquor cabinet above the sink in wistfulness but didn't bother to address it further. He'd drive better if he could see straight. Still, the thought of going to her like he'd wanted to all these months and the absurdity of what he was about to do combined were more than enough to make him dizzy. Tab might have to take over for the last of the journey—or, even better, the first, the middle, and the last.

Speaking of the devil's best friend, he'd vanished upstairs to the third-floor study. He never listened in when someone made phone calls like this, even if they were from his own line. Kind of funny, how George wouldn't think twice about eavesdropping whereas Tab went out of his way to avoid overhearing.

"Floyd! Floyd, get down here!"

Swift, steady footsteps, barely preceded by the scrambling scuffs of a chair being shoved backward.

"What is it?" queried his friend from the top of the stairs.

"No time to explain, just get down here!"

Tab proceeded to make his way speedily down, taking the steps two at a time. He followed George around the corner to the garage door, calling his name with another question mark to follow when he received no direct answer. George spun the car keys around so they pressed into his palm, feeling the metal indent his skin as he opened and pushed through the narrow aperture.

"I'm going to go bring my future home, and you're coming with me."

Tab's sigh was almost feigned as he reached back through the doorway to retrieve his coat as well as his friend's. "George, it's almost seven p.m. And I have work tomorrow, as do you."

"So? Love won't wait, my friend." He twirled the keys again and tossed them over the hood of the first of the three vehicles before them. "Besides, you get to drive."

Tab shook his head. "I get to?"

George flashed him a lopsided smile and slid into the passenger's seat. After a beat's more hesitation, his friend followed his prediction and joined him in the car. Tab turned the ignition and they each settled into their accommodations, preparing for the lengthy drive ahead. The garage door rumbled upward—only the most up-to-date technology for friends of the Nixons—and they pulled out into the fading light, the wet afternoon bleeding into a thankfully drier evening.

"How much did you have to drink before deciding on this mad chase?" Tab asked as he leaned over the backseat to watch where he was reversing.

"None."

"None?"

"None," George repeated, and whatever he'd mustered in his tone to guarantee the truth softened something in Tab's tired eyes. His friend sat up a little straighter, and the energy so often sapped from him by hours clerking behind a desk began to return in increments as they drove. At first, they spoke of the usual things; the clearing clouds, an unruly driver here and there, the meaning of life and what changes peace had brought to their world in the past three years.

"Three," George mused after a time, "isn't that a strange number to decide on a reunion? One, I understand for a high school, two for a college, but three doesn't fit anything. A birthday, maybe, but-"

"It's one for me," Tab reminded him with no shortage of gentle reprehension. "I skipped the last two."

"So did she. But she won't be skipping this time, and neither will you."

"... Yeah. About that—what's your plan, here?"

"With what?"

Tab glanced off the road for just an instant to shoot George that disbelieving eyebrow that had always been able to pry any damn thing out of him, all the way back to Toccoa.

"I know, I know, with Leah." George swallowed. "Leah Hedgecomb."

"Yeah, with Leah."

George waved his hand in front of his face as if reading aloud a banner. "Hopefully the future Mrs. Leah Lowry Hedgecomb Luz." He couldn't help a small smile. "Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He snapped, remembering something vital to his mission. "Oh, shit, right, I've gotta get a- Why are you looking at me like that?"

Tab's spine had gone so taut, it almost seemed to be imitating the straightness of the lampposts they were driving beneath on this long, northbound route. The light from each lamp faded into and back out of the car within a half-second. Once the darkness of the night truly settled it, they would seem ever the brighter and the quicker, keeping the men awake and alert but allowing them no more than a passing glance at each other's expressions.

"Does she know that?"

"Know what?"

"That you're gunning for her to be your wife?"

"As of, uh-" George studied his wristwatch. "-an hour and ten minutes ago, yes."

"Jesus Christ."

His daredevil friend gave a low whistle. "Well, now I know this is a crazy plan. What else could make the pious Floyd Talbert take the savior's name in vain?"

"Oh, come on, Luz. Me? Pious?"

George snickered, and Tab sighed.

"Look, I'm sorry, but you gotta admit this is nuts! You're in love with a woman you haven't seen in a year—a woman who's been purposefully avoiding you, I might add."

"She loves me, too."

"What?"

"She told me back in Austria the day she left." George thumbed his belt loops anxiously. "She told me she loved me and I oughta come find her after the war if I felt the same."

"And you did, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but we never spoke of it again." George licked his lips, then confessed, "I have to believe she meant it. It's all I've got, Floyd."

"You need to stop for a minute and think this through."

"And you," his determined compatriot contested, "need to shut up and turn left."

"Why?" Tab asked, nonetheless rounding the requested corner.

"Because we need to make a detour to Cartier before they close at eight-thirty, and right now, it's eight-o'-one."

"Woah, woah, woah." 

Tab pulled over to the side of the otherwise empty street. He shifted the car into park and turned as fully as he could in his seat toward George. 

"Are you serious about this?"

"Floyd," George replied softly, almost timidly, "this is the first time I haven't second-guessed myself in three years. Yes, I'm serious."

His friend considered, glancing out the windshield onto the pavement and gravel of the road and its side.

"Besides, this is partially your fault."

"What?"

"You know I've loved her since Benning."

Tab's brow twitched. "Well, yes..."

"And you put me on the phone with her just like that, like you knew it was the best thing for us both."

"Um..."

"Come on, Floyd," George pleaded, flashing a smile, "help me out just this once-"

Tab visibly stifled a snort of laughter.

"-and you can be the best man—nay, the officiant—at our wedding."

"Sometimes, I think you've finally gone mad." Tab smiled as he shifted the car back into drive. "Alright. Let's go get the ring, and then the girl."

George let out a whoop, tossing his hands up and smacking them on the ceiling. He winced, shaking out his fingers, though his grin never faltered.

"By the way, I meant it, about the wedding."

"I'm not ordained."

"So? I don't particularly care what denomination ya are, so long as you can marry us."

"... I don't know if that's legal, Luz."

"What, freedom of religion?" His friend shot him a skeptical look. "So sayeth the Quaker's best friend."

"What- George, he's not-" 

Tab huffed and went quiet, giving in (and up).

"I'll look it up and figure it out when we get back," he relented. "Dick probably knows something or somebody..."

George smirked, turning his face toward the window to hide the true warmth of his enthusiasm. 

"Yeah. He prob'ly does."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leah meant to stay up, to wait. She knew she'd feel like the worst idiot in the world should morning come and she was still sitting in her dark living room, alone; nevertheless, she allowed herself hope and trust for the first time in many years. She tried to keep her eyes open, but seeing the toll of midnight after a sixteen-hour shift proved a difficult task, and she drifted off in her old, raggedy armchair with a blanket over her legs and one shoe half-off her foot.

When the rapping on her door startled her awake, it was precisely 12:46 a.m. When she stepped up to the door, it was 12:50. When she gathered up enough courage to actually turn the knob and pull, it was 12:52.

"-so let's just go and come back in the morning, she's clearly not-"

The two men standing under her porch light, their heads and shoulders dusted with snow, froze and stared at her. Talbert's hand dropped from the back of his neck. George looked like he was trying to convince himself she was more than a memory.

"... home."

"George?"

He stumbled forward and she couldn't help but lurch into his embrace.

"What- what are you doing here?!" she gasped, wide awake now that he was really here with her, his arms sending shockwaves up and down her body. "George, you drove all this way?"

"I drove," Tab suggested sheepishly, raising his hand in a sheepish wave, and Leah forced herself to let go of George to hug him.

"I didn't believe- You actually- How? Why?"

"He loves you," Tab chuckled, nodding at George. "Thought that was pretty clear by now. You mind if I come in? I thought it couldn't get any colder than Rhode Island, but sheesh, New York's something else..."

Leah started nodding without really understanding what he'd asked, and he started humming “White Christmas” as he stepped past her and into the semi-heated house. Left alone on the porch, George and Leah stared at each other for a beat. Once they'd remembered the other was truly here, they all but leaped back into each other's arms. Leah's chest felt tight. She heaved each exhalation into his shoulder like it just might be her last. How long ago was it that such a fear could become their reality at the drop of a hairpin, or, in their case, the flick of a grenade pin? Too recent, too fresh.

"Hey, hey, catch your breath," George said, stepping back to cup her cheeks in his hands, scanning her face worriedly. "You cold? You want my scarf? My coat? My sweater? Hell, I'll give you my socks, if you want, though I don't think you do-"

"You came."

"Of course, I came," he cut himself off. "I brought Tab, just like I promised, and a ring to boot."

Leah flushed. "You didn't."

George dropped down on one knee.

"I did."

Leah squeaked. George beamed to hide the terrific pounding of his heart.

"Leah? Sweetheart?"

"Uh-huh?"

"Marry me."

She couldn't seem to speak, but she was nodding so fast George could only take it to mean yes. He put the ring on her finger, and she promptly flung herself into his arms and knocked them both off the porch into the nearest snowbank. George burst into such laughter that it woke the neighbors.

"Screw them," he muttered as the complaining started from an upstairs window. "I'm not afraid of nobody and nothing anymore."

"Oh, yeah?" Leah giggled, still half-certain she was dreaming, shivering a little. "When'd you get so brave?"

George smiled, drawing his thumb tenderly across her cheek to brush away a wispy curl.

"When I got you."

A beat.

"You will marry me, right?"

Leah turned and kissed his cheek, then his lips, and George felt like he could take on the world.

"I love you," she whispered, "and I've waited six years for you to ask me that question, so yes, George Luz, yes, I will marry you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You drove how far to get to her?"

Leah and George shared an amused smile. No matter how many times they told this story, there was always someone who'd only heard snippets and couldn't quite believe it until they got the straight facts from the source itself. This time—most entertainingly—it was Speirs, their former captain. The humor of his confusion was only added to by Lipton, who was standing beside him with such an expression of This is the farthest thing from a surprise, Ronald that it made Leah stifle a laugh against her hand.

"As far as I had to," George answered Speirs, squeezing Leah's hip affectionately. "I'd have driven all the way to California if I had to. Up through Canada, down into Mexico, or all the way into South America—I'd go anywhere. I'd even sneak aboard a ship if she was somewhere overseas."

"So... how far?"

"Five hours," Leah chuckled. "Five hours and them some, 'cause he had to stop to get the ring."

"And I was the one behind the wheel," Tab reminded with a twinkle in his eye, and George lit up, delighted that he'd made it to the reunion after all.

"And you still get to officiate, Floyd!"

"Yeah, yeah. Just tell me when I'm needed, and I'll be there."

"Huh." Speirs paused to think, then took a sip from his whiskey glass. "I'll admit, I never pictured..." He waved at George and Leah, though not at all rudely. "This."

George's arm was slung around Leah's waist and her cardigan was tied just above his hips—the only thing more obviously signifying their relationship was the silver band gleaming on Leah's left hand. Leah pressed a kiss to George's cheek, and as Speirs shook his head, astonished, George let loose a delirious peal of laughter.

"Stop that," Leah giggled, ruffling his hair. "You sound like you're already drunk."

"Oh, honey, I am."

She quirked a brow. "Oh, yeah? Since when? You’ve only had one- oop!"

He'd dipped her toward the floor, his lips ghosting over hers, and when she realized she was not, in fact, falling, she smiled.

"Drunk off you, sweetheart," he whispered as their friends started to holler, noticing the couple's open display of affection.

"Then kiss me, Mr. Luz."

"Happily, Mrs. Luz."

"Wait-" She put her finger against his lips, teasing him. "I'm not the missus just yet."

He groaned. "Why must you remind me? Cruel woman..."

A slight shift in his stance let Leah know he was starting to strain himself by holding her there, so she grabbed him by the collar and pressed a searing kiss to his lips, bolstered by their friends' whistling and cheering.

"I don't think I can wait much longer," George admitted as he brought his fiancée back up to stand. "Literally and figuratively. What with you in that dress, and everybody here—heck, why don't we do it tonight?"

"Do it? Get married, you mean?"

"Get married, run away, honeymoon, hook the moon and drag it down to earth," George hummed, swaying her to an imaginary tune. "You name it, I'll make it happen, sweetheart."

Leah looked at him, and her eyes, brimming with tears of gratitude, struck him with so much love he felt faint.

"So? Whaddaya say, my dearest Leah?"

"Yes. Tonight!"

"Huzzah!" George leaned over his shoulder. "Floyd! It would seem your services are needed much sooner than planned!"

Tab looked up from the buffet table, a slice of chocolate cake halfway to his mouth. George and Leah shared a look, then burst into teary laughter, holding on to each other with no intent to ever let go.

"I think they're really gonna do it."

"About time." Dick Winters sidled up to his friend, then nodded at the cake in his hand. "Is that any good?"

Still watching George and Leah, Tab wordlessly passed the cake to Dick, who, in turn, Dick handed it off to a salivating Frank Perconte.

"Dick," Tab queried, "do you know how to officiate an elopement?"

"Not officially-"

"Didn't think so."

"-but I know a guy."

"Of course, you do."

They eyed the happy couple, now dancing to the music Lipton had conjured from the radio, and shared a small smile despite themselves.

"Think you could get him here within the next half-hour?"

Dick checked his watch.

"Uh..."

"Correction: think you could call him up and have him teach me this whole honorary pastor business on the fly?"

Smiling, Dick started for the payphone on the other end of the bar.

"Now that, I can do."

#george luz #george luz x oc #george luz fanfiction #band of brothers #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers one shot #hbo war show #hbo war show one shot #hbo war show fanfiction #one shot #fanfiction

[easycompanys]

@pscentral event 25: seasons ↳ BAND OF BROTHERS + seasons

#tuserhan #userpayton #userrobin #userbuckleys #olympain #userjack #usersavana #ronsparky #chaoticroad #userrlaura #simizone #kallypsos #hbowaredit #bobedit #violaobanion #riveterema #band of brothers #cinemapix #userstaud #holly.gif #holly.mine #yeah i know the flowers shot is from a scene set in summer/fall but needed FLOWERS in the spring one because it's SPRING

[doctorsiren]

What would a Klapollo swap to match DefenseWorth and ProsecutorWright look like?

I accidentally turned them into Howl and The Scout 😨

#doctorsiren #ace attorney #ace attorney au #apollo justice #klavier gavin #ace attorney fanart #swap au #I’ll tag the other AUs since it’s semi related #defenseworth au #prosecutor wright au #digital art #my art #procreate #Apollo’s that one thing where it’s like ‘sunglasses are great bc nobody can tell where you’re looking’ #and then cut to a shot of his face very close to Klavier #I think that after Kristoph’s downfall: 1) Klavier would need definite healing time and also self-discovery now that he’s free #from his brother’s manipulation #2) he would dress in more flashy prosecutor-y clothes because he just likes that style #3) battle of the bands #I don’t know what I meant by that but yeah #Apollo’s actually constantly freaking out but he hides it with his persona #he probably tries to get an image as a cool rockstar but the internet probably sees him the way they see Tom Holland #yes he’s a celebrity and most everyone loves him BUT it’s just not the vibe he was tryna go for

[theweirdgoodbyes]

“C’mon, lemme help you. You’re breakin’ my heart.”

It’s a Thursday night, the Eagles are playing against the Patriots, and Babe Heffron is one miserable son of a bitch. He had called Bill for an emergency meeting after a particularly gruesome day at work, which including him chasing a student eloping out of the building and down the streets of Philadelphia in 15 degree weather. Why administration hadn’t listened to him about needing locks on his doors, he’ll never understand. Babe ended the day freezing, frustrated, and with a pile of paperwork. He loved his job as a special education teacher, and loved making a difference in young lives. But days like today always brought him back to their familiar spot, The Currahee, much needed beer in hand. One beer had turned into two, and then three, and then Babe lamenting his lonely existence as a perpetually single gay man.

“Pussy hound Bill Guarnere wants to help me pick up a guy? Has hell frozen over?” Babe asks sarcastically, pressing two fingers to the pulse in his neck, “Am I dead?”

“Shaddup. Don’t act like the guys wouldn’t go crazy over me.”

Babe leans forward, reaching out to pat Bill’s arm, “Oh, baby, you drive me crazy alright.”

Babe would do anything for Bill Guarnere. When they were sixteen, and Babe finally understood why he didn’t look at girls the way other guys did, he was terrified to tell Bill that he was gay. Bill, all rough edges and macho energy, had been his best friend since the first day of kindergarten. “You tryna play?” Bill had barked at him the moment Babe stepped into the classroom, still clinging to his mother’s legs. From that moment on the two of them were inseparable. The idea of losing Bill was scarier than anything he could think of, and it took Babe months and several pep talks in the mirror to muster up the courage. So one fateful night, as they drank some stolen beers on Babe’s childhood trampoline, Babe just blurted it out.

“Bill, I like guys.”

Bill was silent for a moment, before tossing his beer over the netting and rolling on top of Babe to envelop him in a giant hug. Babe hugged him back and fought back tears against his shoulder, comforted by Bill’s gruff assurances that best friends forever meant forever. Ten years later, here they are, still thick as thieves, and Bill is adamant that all of Babe’s problems will be solved by getting laid.

“Alright, ‘nough of the funny business,” Bill puts his hands up, as serious as he could ever be. “You want my help or not? I’m tired of listenin’ to you piss and moan over what’s his face.”

“Henry,” Babe sighs, thinking of his ex boyfriend. They had only dated for the summer while Henry was doing an internship in the area. He had gone back to Buffalo in August, and Babe’s love life has been bleak since.

“Yeah, Fuckface McGee, him. You were too good for him, Babe, didn’t I always tell you that?” Bill raises a furry eyebrow, forgetting that according to him Babe was too good for every boyfriend he’s had. He had also taken up the obnoxious but well-meaning habit of running every guy Babe had ever spoken to through the database at the police station, with something as small as a speeding ticket enough to make him concerned. “How long have you known me?”

“Too damn long.”

“And have I ever steered you wrong?”

Before Babe can open his mouth, Bill points at him with a shake of his head, “Don’t answer that. Take a good look around this bar and take your pick. Daddy’s gonna help you.”

Babe looks around the bar. It’s a freezing night in January, so it’s only regulars like him and Bill who have no better place to be. He scans past familiar faces until he sees someone he doesn’t recognize.

“Him.”

Bill turns to look. This stranger is sitting at the bar, eyes laser-focused on the game playing above him. Babe can’t make out the color, but can feel the intensity in them from across the room. He’s got a short crop of black hair to match his furrowed brows, a bit of stubble, and lips that Babe is very interested in seeing up close.

“That guy? The little one with the face?”

“He’s not little.”

“You think he’s on your team?”

Babe keeps looking at this handsome stranger, taking more of him in. His gaydar has always been horrible, highlighted by the confident kiss he had once given his buddy Welsh only to gently be told that friends is all they would ever be. Babe runs on the assumption because it’s 2024, and the world is a much more accepting place than it was ten years ago, that trying to hit on a straight guy isn’t the worst thing that could happen. The stranger is still wearing his coat, despite the stuffy bar air, arms crossed and hands tucked under his armpits like he’s cold. He’s found a lonely corner of the bar, and the drink in front of him is empty. He’s got an air about him that’s says “leave me the fuck alone”, and Babe sees him shake his head when the bartender goes over. Maybe he’s getting ready to leave, he thinks. Babe starts to second guess himself, and begins looking around to see his other options. Handsome Stranger’s mysterious vibe is intriguing, but the possibility of rejection would put Babe in the ground after his rough day.

“I’m goin’ in,” Bill stands up before Babe can protest and struts over to the bar, misplaced confidence oozing out of him.

Babe can only watch in horror as Bill plops himself down next to Handsome Stranger, sticks out a meaty hand, and begins to jabber away. He decides that’s all he needs to see and sets his sight on the nearest TV just in time to watch the Eagles make a touchdown. At least it’s a good day for the Bird Gang.

A moment passes and Babe finds the courage to look back at the bar. He sees Bill stomping back over to him, face contorted in a scowl that Babe is all too familiar with. The conversation cannot have gone in his favor. The guy is definitely straight, potentially homophobic based on Bill’s visible anger.

“What did he say?” Babe dares to ask. He puts his glass to his lips, praying for a miracle.

“First of all, kid must be fuckin’ blind because he took one look at me and says ‘Absolutely not’.”

Babe chokes on his beer, sputtering foam all over the table. He pounds his chest with his fist, willing himself to breathe through his laughter. It’s not often that Bill faces rejection, and the obvious wound to his ego is something Babe will savor for years to come.

“So I says, ‘Listen, toots’-“

Babe’s laughter is cut short and he groans, because of course Bill would make an ass of himself, and by extension, Babe. “Bill, no, you did not call him ‘toots’-“

“I says, ‘first of all, you ain’t my type, with the lack of tits and that pissy pout-“

“BILL!”

“-and you ain’t for me, you’re for the poor fucker sittin’ over here’”, Bill plops back down in his chair, shaking his head. He finishes his beer and sighs, like the interaction has exhausted him, “And then I walked away before I punched him in the mouth.”

Babe just drops his head down on the table. This isn’t the first time Bill has been an absolute beast in public, and it certainly won’t be the last. Babe’s minuscule dream of a night not spent alone has been dashed.

“You need a muzzle,” he mumbles to the wood, “I’m gonna have to tie you to the pole outside. Put up a sign that says, ‘please don’t pet me, I bite’.”

“Don’t be a prick. Can’t say I didn’t tr-“

“Hey.”

Babe looks up and Jesus Christ, Handsome Stranger is standing right in front of him. Although the bar is quieter than usual, the man had appeared with such silence that Babe wonders if he appeared out of thin air. He can barely believe this is real, certain that the guy was either straight or so repulsed by Bill that all hope was lost.

“Hey,” he squeaks out. Oh, Christ. He clears his throat and repeats himself, “Hey.”

The guy stares at him with those dark eyebrows still furrowed, like he’s looking at something under a microscope. Suddenly self-conscious under his unrelenting gaze, Babe runs his hand over his forehead, trying to rub away any red mark that might be left from slamming his head down.

God, up close he really is hot. His eyes are somewhere between blue and grey, complimented by the blue scrubs he’s wearing under his coat. Babe feels his cheeks turning as red as his hair, but unable to look away from those unblinking eyes. Over the hum of distant conversations and game commentary, Babe wonders if Handsome Stranger can hear his heart thumping out of his chest.

“You his friend?” He sticks a thumb at Bill, who immediately straightens up.

“His best friend, actu-“

“Give me your phone.”

Babe could fall out of his chair. There’s no way.

“My what?”

“Your phone. It’s right there.” Handsome Stranger points to where it rests on the table next to Babe’s glass.

“Oh, yeah, sure, here.” Babe scrambles to grab his phone and unlock it, handing it over quicker than he would like to admit.

The stranger taps at it and then quickly types something in and hands it back to Babe. He looks to see his contacts open, with a new addition: Eugene Roe. He doesn’t recognize the area code, explaining why he’s never seen this Eugene before tonight.

“Cool beans,” is all Babe can think to say because holy shit, he did not expect Bill to actually pull through with this. When he looks up again, Eugene Roe is gone. He looks to the door just in time to see it swing shut, catching a quick glimpse of white sneakers walking away.

Bill gives him a shit eat grinning and grabs his shoulders to give him a rough shake.

“Cool beans? What are you, fuckin’ twelve?”

“I panicked,” Babe defends himself. He can’t help but smile and looks back at his phone. He wonders if it would make him seem desperate to text him right now. Yeah, it would, he decides, maybe he’ll wait an hour-

Bill cackles, a sound that shocks Babe back into reality. “Never say I never did nothin’ for you, even though that guy is already on thin fuckin’ ice with me. Now go buy me a beer. The king is thirsty.”

Babe happily obliges, making his way over to the bar in a half-daze. While the bartender pours Bill’s beer, Babe looks back over to where his handsome no-longer a stranger was sitting. Eugene Roe, he thinks, who are you?

(Now posted on my ao3 with some edits! https://archiveofourown.org/works/53977666#work_endnotes)

#wrote this because wingman Bill had the potential for such chaos #as of right now this is a one shot but we shall see what happens! #fanfic #fanfiction #band of brothers #hbo war #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #baberoe #eugene roe #babe heffron #bill guarnere #modern au #Maddie writes

[thirstyvampyr]

i wish they'd make nix react to this kiss but then that'd have been a little too much perhaps

#band of brothers #winnix #im cleaning my screenshot folder this was last month #one random bob shot in the middle of a billion saltburn ones #damian looks so cute in that scene

[samwinchesterslostshoe]

~Alone and forsaken~

More Easy Ranch moodboards? Sure why not !

I really wanted to make a gothic western inspired moodboard, but didn’t really have a particular character in mind. That was until I was watching Inglorious Basterds yesterday and my man Micheal Fassbender came on screen hahaha. Anyway, hence why I choose Christensen ;)

Alone And Forsaken - Hank Williams

My taglist: @ronsparky @whollyjoly @next-autopsy @luckynumber4 @barbeygirl @dustyjumpwingz @xxluckystrike @heystovepipeboys @sweetxvanixlla @kafka-ohdear

#Spotify #band of brothers moodboard #easy ranch #band of brothers collab #pat christenson #kinda want to write a one shot just for this moodboard👀

[caseadilla111]

I'm Not Scared of Death - Chuck Grant

oOoOoOoOo

a/n - hiya, this is my first time writing something like this and I am not the most confident in my writing yet, hopefully this isn't too terrible but I wanted to write something a bit out of my element. Inspired by a lyric prompt I saw on here by @prxttyvixens and wanted to take it for a test run myself. Please go check out their page and work! They are GREAT!

oOoOoOoOo

I could feel the rush of my blood throughout my limbs, ending in a throb when it reached my head. My left palm was warm, it felt like someone was holding me, petting my hand, comforting me. I could hear mumbles that resembled voices, but the ringing in my ears overpowered them, I couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Flashes of my life before the war began to roll out before my eyes like the film reel they put on for us so many times before. I could see myself running through the woods, chasing my friends with sticks, pretending we were soldiers amongst the trees. I saw my mother, licking her thumb to wipe dirt from my forehead. I saw my sister holding my hand as I danced with her at our aunt’s wedding. I saw myself floating on my back down stream in the creek, eyes shut and slipping further and further away from my family on shore as the cool summer breeze kissed my skin.

Suddenly I was 17 again. I was not scared of death. I was walking along railroad tracks and playing chicken in the street and diving off of the high rocks at the lake near Veterans Park. I was carefree, careless even, I was alive.

I heard the mumbling voices around me again. I wish this damn ringing in my ears would stop; it’s giving me one hell of a headache. I could feel the rush of my blood throughout my limbs, down my legs to my toes, up to my waist then to my chest, stretching to my arms and fingers, looping its way back up to my head and ending in that throbbing sensation again.

The reel of my life began again. This time I’m older. Glimpses of uniforms and screaming eagles flashed by, foaming golden ales sloshed in their glasses as I sang, with Liebgott to my right and Tab to my left. Now I’m floating, or falling rather, along with thousands of toy soldiers in the sky, round parachutes deployed carefully cradling each one of us down to the cool lush earth. The ground below lit up here and there, and just as my feet touched the grown, the grass turned to snow and frozen dirt. Warm coffee in a cold canteen cup was handed to me, the canopy of the straight trees above our heads was bare, a blue and yellow flare lit the sky for a moment. It was like staring at a comet, or a meteor and I was nothing but a prehistoric beast waiting for my untimely end.

It was night now, and I was in a hole in the ground. The earth shook, it sounded like I was in the middle of the grand finale of the local Fourth of July fireworks show back home. A rifle now replaced the cup of joe in my hands. I looked off into the rows of exploding trunks in front of me and saw a smaller, younger version of myself, running with sticks, chasing my friends, playing soldier amongst the trees. For a moment, the me from the past stopped and looked in my direction, smiling before disappearing behind the shrapnel and earth a mortar round brought up in the wake of its detonation.

Suddenly I was 17 again. I was not scared of death. I looked it square in the face.

I could feel the rush of my blood throughout my limbs, and the throbbing at the end of this rush was muted now but still present. Voices continued to mumble but the ringing in my ears was barely easing up. I felt that same warmth on my left palm and a warmth on my right shoulder. I heard a voice, louder and closer this time, so much so I almost made out what it said. The voice was accompanied by a squeezing sensation of my left hand. I wanted to speak, I wanted to clear my throat from the sick taste of copper, I wanted to open my eyes but I couldn’t, and I wanted that goddamn ringing to stop. I felt a pressure in my head for a moment, and then that film reel of my life kicked on again.

I was sitting in a bar enjoying a beer and good conversation with two younger soldiers. Laughs were had, our thirst was quenched, and we loaded into the topless army issued jeep to head back to the rest of the company. I was driving, sharing the funny bits of my war story with the new guys, giving them the pleasure of knowing the one and only Wild Bill and his take-no-shit attitude. In front of us there were bright lights pointed head on. I squinted, told the newbies to stay in the jeep, and got out to help the soldier seemingly stranded on the roadside. That was at least what I assumed as the lights continued to blind me from the scene sprawled out at my feet. Once I could see clearly, figures lay on the ground, though I couldn’t make out their faces nor their clothing nor their bodies. They were blurs in my mind, censored blurs of flesh and grey coloring. My head moved in slow-motion between the two figures on the ground, my vision began to double as I looked up at the soldier in front of me, who was now just as blurred as the figures laying below. Just as my eyes set on his shape, the soldier raised his arm and pointed at my face. I couldn’t quite understand until I saw the black object in his hand. I made sense of what I was staring at even if my eyes couldn’t see. I heard a pop.

I could feel the rush of my blood throughout my limbs. Suddenly I was 17 again. I was not scared of death.

#chuck grant #band of brothers #one shot

[indigo-graves]

Falling |Carwood Lipton|

Carwood Lipton wasn’t sure when he fell in love with Hazel Barnes. It came on him subtly and somehow all at once. There was an overwhelming feeling of knowing all along in the exact moment where he realized it for the first time. When he thought about it, between drills that demanded equal parts of the brain and body, training on strategy, and preparations to jump from an airplane, he narrowed it to five very specific moments. --SMUT WARNING-- 18+

 

When Lipton knocked on Hazel’s door, there was an eagerness in each thud of his fist that he knew would pervade every moment of their night together. When she opened it, he felt like he was looking at her for the very first time. It was the hitch in his gut, just that subtle constricting movement, a blip if you weren’t paying attention. It was the same exact internal movement that he felt the first time he caught her eye in that smokey pub in town. 

She was throwing her head back in laughter. Something one of the soldiers in Dog Company had said caused her to throw her head back and let out a belly deep, unabashed, and entirely contagious laugh. It was so striking that it completely pulled Lipton from a conversation he was sharing with Dick Winters and Lewis Nixon. He turned his head to follow the sound. The dark curtain of perfectly shaped waves fell over her shoulders. Her eyes were closed, lashes fanning over her cheeks, reddened with giddiness. The curve of her full lips as they parted into an open-mouth smile made him lick his own subtly. There was something about the graceful curve of her neck, the soft and delicate redness from the heat in the room drawing his focus in. He swallowed. And when she collected herself, the smile lingering on her round face, they locked eyes. Under her gaze, he felt the hitch in his abdomen, like the tightening of a belt around his gut. He smiled softly, as if testing her unpredictable waters. And then it was his turn to be the target of that sweet smile. God, did he never want it to be anyone else. 

“Hi, love,” she smiled, she had been waiting for him. No one else was quite able to make her smile just like he did. He noticed it as he watched her gracefully navigate a room, never once showing the same smile he had grown to pry from her with greedy hands. He stepped in, a response to her widening the door, an unavoidable smile conjured upon his own lips. How could he stop himself when he was around her? “Tea?” 

He shook his head in response when she gestured behind her toward the kitchen, “no.” He looked over her form, feeling a pang of jealousy at the way her dress was so closely able to hold to the natural curve of her hip. She walked toward him. A waft of her perfume got to him before she did. When he inhaled, he felt the buzz of a less sober man. When she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek gently, he thanked his arms for instinctually finding purchase on those same hips he had admired seconds before. “We fly out tomorrow.” 

He felt her muscles tighten. A small gasp that he would not have heard if her lips had not been so close to his ear. He squeezed her tighter, “I know.” 

She let out the breath she had been holding and stepped back from him, her hands still lingering on his shoulders, “we knew this would happen.” 

Lipton nodded, “yes.” 

There were few words that seemed to fit the tone that had shifted in the room. It was not likely that he would find the appropriate one anytime soon. As if Hazel knew it, too, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his in a soft, tender kiss. 

There was a small beat between a downpour that turned the roads to muck and the threat of further threats of rain on the horizon. It was at that time that Lipton had suggested that he walked Hazel back home from the pub. Without allowing a second to pass, she agreed with a nod. If there was a spare moment where Lipton could find time to spend with Hazel alone, he would trip over himself to take it. Unsure if she had realized this or even more, considered the same, he did not know. 

It wasn’t until she pulled him forward by the hand as the downpour started that he thought there may be a reason why she was agreeable to let him walk her home. She did not let go of it until they were at her doorstep. 

She demanded that he come in, arguing that there is no way she was going to send a soldier back to his quarters in the midst of a heavy rain when she was drying off in a perfectly warm home. It was not until after he agreed to stay and even more, to a cup of tea, that she was appeased. 

It was after that tea was gone, refilled, and gone again, that he realized it had not been raining for quite some time. It was her company that was keeping him comfortably seated on her couch, facing her as she spoke enthusiastically, pouring forth with a story about her first time attempting to fish after her father passed away. As he pictured her in a row boat, frustratedly attempting to reel in a stubborn fish, he found himself envious of the next man to catch a fish for her. 

There was a shift in the air between them as he later slipped on his now-dry jacket. The sun had set. The rain had long passed. Their fingers had brushed when she handed the jacket over, he swallowed hard in response. The way she looked at him made him consider what he might have said to cause her furrowed brow. When she leaned forward and placed a soft kiss to his cheek, he felt the lump in his throat drop to his stomach. 

When she stood back, the sweetness of her perfume lingering between them, he smiled softly. She smiled softly in return, her eyes locked quite intently on his own. The warmth of the brown within felt like the sun had suddenly risen again, swallowing the night’s chill and heating him from the inside out. But when those doe eyes flickered to the smirk on his face, he remembered what it felt like to desire a person with your entire being. 

He was hopeful that the bravery he showed when he leaned forward to kiss her gently was the same that he would show on the battlefield. Even a fraction of it would get him through this war decorated. Within him, he felt the embers she had created ignite to full flickering flame when he felt the way her lips so perfectly in synchronicity with his. 

Lipton wasn’t sure who deepened the kiss, who let it catch light with urgency and desperation, but it was in that heated need that he crossed the room with her toward her bedroom. As they went, hands began to tear at garments. Carelessly, fabric fell to the floor in abandon. He had never in his life had he felt the depth of this type of desire. It was more than need. 

She was breathless when he tore his mouth from hers. Her lipstick smeared across her cheek, he planted kisses across her cheek, her forehead, temple, her eyelids, her nose. Lipton reached down to grip the backs of her thighs, surprising Hazel as he lifted her from the floor. The grip of his hands settled on her rear, fingertips pressed deeply into her flesh. She kissed his forehead, cheeks, chin, jaw from above as he crossed the room with her in his arms. 

When he got her to the bed, he set her down gently, hurrying to tug her dress over her hips and past her feet. He threw it behind him, greeting the majority of his clothing on the floor. It was when he started to take down his boxers that she helped by removing her own bra and underwear. No matter how many times he had seen her naked, he would never be left in anything less than awe. No matter how intimately he learned every inch of her body, he would feel nothing less than unyielding gratitude. 

Hazel pulled him close to her, their bodies flush against one another. Every part of her form fit so perfectly into his, as if the brightest mind had drawn up the blueprints. The way skin met skin, limbs tangled with limb, there was no way to decide where she began and he ended. Their lips worked in perfect time, breaths short and dire as they grew less and less frequent. 

“Car,” she gasped, the first time he touched her. The nickname was not one she had used before, and since then, he only ever heard it when he drew it from her throat with delicate, intentional movements. 

The first time they made love, there was something boiling in the pit of Lipton’s stomach that he had never experienced before. Not that he had not felt desire, lust, hell, even love before. But what began to take over his brain and body felt like an intoxication so deep, it may never detox from his marrow. 

He held her head in his hand, pinned between her and the pillows behind her as he calculated the response every thrust was able to call forward. He watched as her eyes screwed shut and her lips parted. He watched as a wrinkle appeared between her brows. He watched as a gorgeous blush spanned the width of her chest, clawing its way up her throat. He kissed her there, her name on his lips while he deepened each motion, feeling himself reach the length of her depths. 

“Car,” she gasped, each of her well manicured fingers raked at his back, her ankles locked at the lowest point on his back. He couldn’t help but smile as it poured past her lips like the sweetest wine. A wine he’d find himself scavenging every corner of the earth to sip once more. 

He granted some space between them when she began to inch her hand down delicately over his chest, teasing his skin with the sweetest of gestures. Every inch those fingers drew, he found himself throbbing more intensely. It was not until he felt her hand wrap securely around him that he let out a sigh of relief. Hazel’s bottom lip was trapped between her teeth as she held his gaze. When she started to gently stroke, he lost sight of her when his eyes fluttered closed. 

The deep giggle that vibrated where their chests connected made his blood pump harder. It was one he learned came with a moment where she felt herself in control, especially of the pleasure he experienced; it was a sound he found echoing in his mind as he tossed and turned in bed on lonely nights. One that often encouraged a stampede of memories of ecstasy that he knew would not dim over the course of time. 

Lipton’s thumb traced the curve of her jaw, memorizing the angle it took before meeting her ear. He tangled his hand in her hair as if it were a forest he longed to be lost in. She tilted her head up and met his lips in a hungry kiss, coaxing a groan from deep within his chest while she increased the movement of her hand. 

He traced down over her collar bone, his thumb stopping to circle her nipple. He often considered the responsiveness of every part of her body to each of his careful ministrations. He also often considered the natural color of her lips and its perfect match to the color of her nipples. Especially when he noticed the way they glistened as she licked them. Which she did often in response to his touch. 

The light of the midday sun shone into the bedroom where Lipton found himself tangled in sheets. It was the way she had allowed them to be draped over her, as if she were in the safest place in the world, so vulnerable to his eyes, barely covered. He found it the most erotic moment of his life, watching her talk and laugh, so very exposed to him. It was a privilege he would not take lightly.

“Lip?” She teased, reaching out and nudging his jaw with the knuckle of her index finger. He blinked, focused his gaze on her smiling face. He raised a brow in question. “You know,” she pulled the sheet over her breasts. He felt like a child after losing a balloon in the wind. “If I were a more anxious woman, I’d worry you weren’t listening to me.” Though her words chastised him, her tone was tender, soft, as if she knew that he would never for a moment take the sight of her naked body for granted. 

“Never,” he smirked. She leaned forward with a giggle, pressing her bare chest to his, her lips soon after. 

When his hand rested on hers, her pace slowed to a stop. He took up her hand gently, holding it against his chest briefly before bringing it to his mouth. He placed a kiss to her fingertips, her palm, and her wrist before guiding it over his shoulder. She found herself running her fingers through the hair at the back of his head. 

As he aligned himself with her, he felt as she spread her legs further, accommodating his hips as they settled between her thighs. A gentle stroke down to her entrance and up again caused her breath to catch audibly in her throat. He smiled as he watched her eyelids grow heavy with lust. Hazel tilted her hips up in a movement that Lipton had told himself was the most sensual thing he had known any woman to do. The whimper that escaped her lips encouraged a twitch in his length he held tight in his hand. 

“Please,” she whispered. 

Without hesitation, he met her upward thrust with a downward stroke, a motion that called forward a moan from each of them. He buried his face in her neck as he began to find a slow, building pace. They began to move like the tide, each wave crashing with moans and groans of approval. He felt the way she held him with intensity, both inside and out, with each motion. 

“Oh God,” she arched her back to meet him with urgency. “I love you.” When her eyes fluttered open to meet his, he saw the way tears welled in her eyes. 

He kissed her temple, the apple of her cheeks, and pulled her closer to him. He quickened the pace as he found an angle to provide him with access to new depths. Both of which she responded to with a cry that gave him goosebumps. He found himself breathlessly, ecstatically, devastatingly, responding in kind, “I love you.”

#carwood lipton #lipton #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfic #one shot #oneshot #fan fiction #fanfiction #BoB fanfic #BoB smut #BoB imagine #BoB oneshot #BoB fic #Band of brothers #Band of brothers one shot #band of brothers fic #band of brothers fan fiction #hbo war #smut #band of brothers smut #carwood lipton smut #carwood lipton one shot #carwood lipton fan fiction

[carwoodron]

“Do you want me?” Speirs asked bluntly, eyes piercing through him, unblinking. There was no waver in his voice, no fear of rejection or scandal. Just a matter-of-factly question, with a yes or no answer.

sooo yes another one. sorry they’re down bad

#listen. Listen [disappears] #im cooking alright #but do u know how hard it is to come up with a title for one shots. im just skimming hozier songs and siken poems waiting for enlightenment #yes im doing alright why do you ask. #theyre my very sweet boys who are very in love #and ron is a little sassy until hes not #im writing a chapter 2 for this tomorrow dont even LOOK in my direction #speirton #band of brothers fic

[sergeant-spoons]

Darling, Swing, and a Sapphire Ring

What is it about George Luz that inspires me to write friends-to-lovers fics? Oh, wait, no, I’ve got it. It’s those big brown eyes and that big cheeky smile.

Luz, you’ll be the death of me yet.

Pairing: George Luz x Female OC

Word count: 11,003 (well goddamn)

Tone: Best friends to lovers, flirting/banter, postwar reunions, dancing around feelings, quite a lot of pining

Summary: He’s got an engagement ring and a reunion to attend—now all he needs is a real, live, not-so-genuine fiancée.

Taglist: @tvserie-s-world​ @thoughpoppiesblow​ @victoryrollsandredlips​ @now-im-a-belieber​ @50svibes​ @mgdln97​ @tina1938​ @drinkwhiskeyandsmile​ @ask-you-what-sir​ @indecisiveimpatience​ @whovian45810​ @brokennerdalert​ @holdingforgeneralhugs​ @onlyyouexisthere​

"You want me to pretend I'm your what?"

"My girl!"

"I still don't get it."

"My girl! My beau! My beloved!"

"Yeah, George, I understand that part, but why?"

"I need you to pretend to be my girl for the reunion this weekend," George Luz repeats patiently, then pouts when all he gets in response is a deepened frown. "Why are you lookin' at me like that?"

"Because-" Magdalena Saas splutters, flapping her hands in emphatic circles. "Because that's nuts! It's absurd! Totally asinine!"

"Really pulling out the thesaurus for that one, sweetheart."

She shoots him a dirty look, and his smile starts to drop.

"You really think it's a bad idea?"

"I think it's an awful idea, George, and there's no way in hell I'm going through with it."

He looks genuinely baffled.

"Now why would you say a thing like that?"

"Let me think." Maggie ticks off her impressions on her fingers. "First off, charades like this never work out the way you think they will. Secondly, everyone plus your mother knows you and I are just friends. And thirdly—well, thirdly, it's a lousy idea!"

"That's only two valid points," George declares. "The third's more of an unproven opinion."

"Well, isn't two enough?"

"I mean..."

Maggie's head falls back and hits the bedframe with a thunk. She's managed to avoid blushing up until now, when George sucks in a breath through his grimace and tucks his hand between her head and the hard wooden frame, his palm caressing her hair.

Thirdly, this is not at all the kind of proposal I wish I'd get from you—and for the cherry on top, you're clueless.

"Fine." 

"Fine?"

She crosses her arms and turns her head towards him, and just when he's thought he's won her over, she adds, "My third point is that you've clearly not thought this through."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What if I prove you wrong?"

She sits up and squints at him. He flashes that lopsided grin she adores and she sighs, slouching again as she waves for him to go on.

"I'm listening."

"I've been thinking about this for two and a half weeks."

"And you're only just letting me in on your little scheme the day before?"

He waffles. "If I told you I kinda had to work up the nerve to ask, would you believe me?"

Seeing the crease of his brow and the sheepishness in his gaze, she glances aside, shushing the fluttering of her heart, and tells him she would.

"Good, 'cause it's true."

"Uh-huh. So what's your plan, anyway?"

"Huh?"

"If you really have been thinking about this for two and a half weeks, surely you've got some semblance of a plan."

"Yeah! Yeah, sure I do."

Maggie reaches over and taps his knee. "Then let's hear it."

"Well, to make it short and sweet—like you-"

"Of course, you had to go there."

"-you come with me to the reunion tomorrow, we pretend we're together, everybody is completely awed because they've never seen a more perfect couple-"

"Debatable."

"-and we go home happy and a little bit drunk after a night of fun!"

Maggie presses her lips together on one side of her face and thinks about what he's asking from her. On the surface, it's not much—pretend to be his girlfriend for four or five hours—but there's a lot she knows he probably hasn't considered. She loves George, but he's not the best with foresight. For one, it probably hasn't occurred to him that she's not going to know anyone there.

"But I will," he says happily when she brings this up, "and I'll introduce you to every single person there, if you want, and then you'll know everybody, and everybody will know—and adore—you."

"If you say so," she blusters. "Well—then what about getting there and back?"

"We'll take my car."

"Really? How close is this reunion?"

"A two-hour drive. One-and-a-half if we don't hit any traffic."

"Oh." This is a likable detail. "Alright, that's reasonable."

"I wouldn't be asking you if it wasn't."

She tries to be skeptical, but he's right. He's never asked anything of her he didn't think she could do. And this is the first ask she can think of that she's been hesitant to agree to.

"You do have a good track record," she admits, and he beams, knowing he's starting to win her over.

"Any other questions?"

"What's the expected attire for this thing? Am I good in jeans or should I wear a dress?"

"A dress," he answers, and she can tell he's being honest, not just picking and choosing what he himself would prefer. "As good as you look in those Levi's-"

"Stop looking at my ass."

"-it's a bit more of a formal event. Not suit and tie fancy, but button-up shirt for me and a dress or a skirt for you."

"Or a pantsuit?"

He grins. "Or a pantsuit."

"Hmm..." She pictures her wardrobe. "Yeah, I can work with that. Are we gonna be dancing?"

"All night long."

"My comfortable pumps it is, then."

"Pumps?" He scrunches up his face. "I don't think there's gonna be any tires that need inflating at the dance hall, sweetheart."

"It's a type of heel, darling."

"Oh." He laughs at himself. "Well, in that case, definitely go with the comfortable option."

"I mean..." She gestures to the pumps, sitting on a shoe rack across the room by the closet door. "They're a beat beaten up, I've had them for so long-"

"You think anybody's gonna be lookin' at your feet?"

He tickles her socked foot and she shrieks a laugh, careful not to move too sharply as she kicks his hand away. He grins and leans back against her bedframe, and when she tries to remember how they ended up sitting on the carpet like this instead of on her bed where the gin rummy game is still spread out, she can't remember.

"Are we talkin' a dinner party, or just dancing?"

"We usually go out to eat in a big group after everybody's tuckered out—usually, we get tired of poker, but this time, it'll be dancing, so my guess is we'll all get hungry quicker."

"And will there be drinking?"

"You know it."

Maggie laughs. "Well, you know me. So long as there's good beer, good company, and the potential for good food, I'm happy."

"Then I think you'll really enjoy yourself tomorrow."

"Only if I agree to this batshit crazy idea of yours."

"It's not that crazy," he insists, and though she knows he's probably right, she holds out a little longer.

"It's a little crazy."

"Yeah, maybe a little."

George adjusts his seated position, turning to look at her more fully, and Maggie half-wishes he hadn't—it's much easier to deny him when he's not mooning at her with those big brown eyes.

"There anything else you wanna know?"

Yeah—what am I supposed to do when we come home and I'm not yours anymore, because I never was yours, and probably won't ever be yours? What the hell am I supposed to tell my poor heart then?

She swallows back the premonition of regret and flashes a smile. 

"Nope. Not unless you've got more to tell me."

"Well, there is one more thing..."

Maggie sighs dramatically, tossing her hand upon her forehead. "Oh, will the demands ever end?"

He snorts a laugh. "It's just one thing. One relatively small thing. I think."

"Alright, spit it out. Do I have to wear a wig? Fake teeth? Dye my eyebrows blonde?"

"What? No." He shakes his head as if clearing a startling image. "We gotta get engaged."

"What?"

George laughs, but she can tell he's nervous, very nervous, and she gets the sense he thinks she'll rescind her agreement now that this particular detail is out in the open.

"When I told the fellas, I may or may not have boasted about, um, my girl. A lot. And then Guarnere—love the guy, but he likes to run his mouth—started blabbin' about how he didn't believe me, and I just sorta blurted it out, and that got them impressed, so I ran with the bit, and now..." A sheepish smile is paired with a shrug. "They wanna meet my fiancée."

Maggie sighs yet again and pinches the upper bridge of her nose.

"Oh, George, darling George, what am I ever going to do with you?"

"Marry me?" His cheeks pinken. "I mean, only hypothetically, for this very specific event, and maybe for the next time you pretend to be my girl-"

"The next time?!"

"Forget I said that!" He gulps, studying her expression with wide eyes. "Well? Will you still go with me?"

Maggie considers. She could get something out of this, make a deal of it. She deserves something in return, really, for all the heartbreak this is no doubt going to cause her. After a moment's more thought, she nods, just once, and George beams.

"I'll do it on one condition."

He flashes those puppy-dog eyes and Maggie wonders for a moment if she should do this simply because she loves him.

That's exactly why you shouldn't be doing this, you cretin.

"Yeah? What is it?"

She squints at her best friend, then tosses her hair, feigning ignorance.

"I get to be the best woman at your actual wedding."

George seems relieved. "Oh, thank God."

Maggie gives him a curious look. "What did you think I was gonna say?"

"No idea," he laughs, "I'm just glad you picked that. I mean, you're a shoo-in for the position anyway-"

"Then maybe I oughta ask for something else."

"No, no, that's perfect," he says, laughing anxiously. 

"Too late! I've changed my mind."

"I just had to run my mouth, didn't I?" He tugs at his ear. "So... what else?"

"It's... a secret."

He gapes at her, and she reaches out and shuts his mouth with her thumb and forefinger on his chin. She almost believes it when he swoons, and she leans back, rolling her eyes.

"Alright, Drama Queen, you've had your fun."

"I'll grant you your wish," he swears, rolling around to kneel before her. "Anything you want, my dearest Magdalena, is yours."

"Oh, yeah? Anything?"

"Anything."

"I wish you would find yourself a real fiancée instead of roping me into your bullshit."

George grimaces. "Okay, I can grant any wish except for that."

"Damnit." She scrunches up her nose. "Um..."

His smile turns into a smirk. "You don't actually know what you want from me, do you?"

I do, actually, but it's something I don't think you'd give.

"I do," she bluffs, "but I'll keep it a secret until the morning after we get back. Then you'll really squirm."

"Oh, yeah. Lots of squirming to be had right here."

"Shut up," she groans, then pushes at his arm when his smirk grows "Hey, watch it, buster, I could still change my mind. If I want to keep my payment secret—don't look at me like that, you know I don't want your money—then that's my prerogative."

"Fine, fine—but you'll do it? You'll go with me? As my fiancée?"

Rationally, she knows it's not for real, but when he looks at her like that, asking her to be his...

Don't think about it too much.

Too late. Her heart skips a beat.

"...Yes."

"Yes?"

"Yes, I'll go with you. As your... fake fiancée." 

"Yes!"

George throws his hands up, then grabs her face and plants a wet kiss on her nose. Maggie makes a face and rubs her sleeve across her face, but George is beaming so wide she can't help a small smile of her own.

"Oh—and you're driving."

Her best friend stops his preemptive celebration to pout. 

"But Maggie-"

"Here we go."

"-all the guys'll be drinking, and it's a reunion, I can't just pass up a party-"

"Fine. You're driving on the way there."

"Yes!" he hisses through his toothy smile, pumping the air with his fist. "You're the best, you know that, Mags?"

She sighs, but lets him wrap his arm around her and kiss the top of her head regardless.

"Yeah, yeah. Just put on a ring on it and let's get back to gin rummy."

"Alrighty, I will."

He produces a small velvet box from his back pocket, and Maggie has to stare at it for a solid four or five seconds before she believes it's actually real.

"Sweetheart?"

She rolls her eyes to hide how her heart has started skipping all around her chest and holds out her left hand almost flippantly.

"You really have been planning this for a while, haven't you?"

"Two-and-a-half weeks."

"How'd you know my ring size?" she starts to ask, surprised that it fits so well, but he interrupts, rambling the way he does when he gets excited.

"Well, now that we've made that decision, we gotta figure out what you're wearin'! Not that you don't always look pretty, but I wanna make you the star o' the show, y'know? Everybody's gonna be so jealous o' me, sweetheart, just you wait..."

As Maggie watches George pick through her dresses and blouses and two pairs of work overalls she hasn't worn in a month, she leans her head against her hand and wonders what on earth she's gotten herself into. The metal of the ring on her finger presses to her temple, a stark reminder that the stakes for this are high.

And I bet they'll just keep getting higher.

"You know, you've got two—three—of the same dress in here. Different colors, same cut."

"Yes, I do know. It's my closet, smartass."

She moves her hand in front of her face and examines the ring while he's got his back turned to her. It's a silver band with an inlaid sapphire. Nothing too fancy, but certainly elegant. It's beautiful. It's perfect.

"Do you prefer blue or brown?"

"What?"

"For the dress. Blue or brown?"

Lifting the ring to her face, watching the sapphire twinkle in the orange-tinted light of her bedroom lamp, she can't conceal a small, giddy smile.

"Definitely blue."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Why did I let you talk me into this?"

George puts the car into park and leans over the side of the seat, his signature, surefire grin flashing across his face.

"That is not a very reassuring look."

He attempts a sympathetic pout, but when he bats his eyes at her with those downturned lips, he resembles a basset hound so sufficiently that she snorts a laugh.

"Now you just look extremely regretful."

He tries again, emphasizing the pout, and Maggie starts giggling (and it's only half from nerves).

"George Luz, you are the picture of remorse."

"Ah, but I made you laugh," he says, smiling again. "You wanna head inside?"

She hesitates, and though she tries not to look down at her hand, feeling the ring where it has hugged her third finger ever since last night (she didn't have the heart to part from it even while sleeping), she does. Softening, George reaches across the gearbox and lays his hand on Maggie's knee. She draws her lips between her teeth and pretends she’s hardly noticed the feeling of his palm against her skin.

"This is gonna be great," he vows. "It's you, me, all my buddies, and all their girls—good people, remember? And good beer, or so Perconte promises. And dancing! You like dancing."

"Yep," she chortles weakly, swinging her fist across her chest, "I do love me a good shindig."

George pauses, then squeezes her knee, his thumb brushing a little higher up her thigh. Maggie almost squeaks but manages to catch the sound behind her teeth.

"You know what we're gonna do, Mags?"

"What?" She coughs lightly into her fist. "What are we gonna do, George?"

"We're gonna dance a whole lot, so you won't hafta talk much if you don't want to."

A smile creeps onto Maggie's lips, and as she pats George's hand where it remains on her leg, she fails to notice the relief that sags his shoulders when he sees she’s relaxing.

"It's not all the people that's got me nervous," she admits. "It's... Well, it's that I'm afraid I won't play the part right."

"Pfff," he scoffs, fondly wrinkling his nose up at her. "People'll take one look at us and go 'Yup. That's George and Maggie. Always have been, always will be'."

"You think so?"

"Sweetheart, I know so."

They share a smile that lasts a bit too long for friends (but just right for the relationship they're supposed to have) until a bird flying straight past their windshield startles them and they look away, laughing awkwardly. They get out of the car. On one side, George locks the doors and takes a deep breath. He can't let it on, but he's starting to have doubts about this ruse—is one afternoon of pretending worth the sting of tomorrow, when they'll go back to how they really are and laugh about this later? He's not so sure anymore. On the other side of the car, Maggie straightens her blue dress and looks up at the four o'clock sun with a smile, her confidence revived, oblivious to George's fresh uncertainty.

"Ready to go, sweetheart?"

He offers her his arm and she gladly takes it.

"Ready as I'll ever be, darling."

Once the excitement of their arrival has subsided (Maggie is unsurprised to learn George is very popular among his former Company), George takes her up beside him and grins at the friends who've come up to greet him first.

"Fellas," he announces, "I'd like you to meet my gorgeous fiancée." 

He turns and shows her off on his arm, proud as a peacock, and for all the ridiculousness of their ruse, Maggie can't deny she feels rather special with him going on like this. 

"This is Ms. Magdalena Saas-"

"Call me Maggie."

"-soon to be Mrs. Magdalena Luz. Can you imagine that?"

"Yeah, Luz, that's usually how matrimony works," teases a friendly face out of the already amicable crowd. He takes George's hand to shake, then Maggie's. "Harry Welsh. Great to meet you, at last, Maggie. Luz here hasn't stopped talking about you for weeks—not that I'm any better about my own wife."

Flustered stupid, Maggie can only nod and blurt out a meek, "Oh?"

"Oh, yeah. Every time I call, it's Mags this and Maggie that." He chuckles. "I think he talks about you more than I talk about Kitty."

"Now that's saying something."

A smart young woman with a brilliant smile has appeared; she beams at Maggie, brightening up visibly when Welsh wraps his arm around her.

"I'm Kitty."

"I figured."

As they shake hands, Kitty laughs. "You do seem like a good fit for George—at least, from the stories Harry's told me."

"Better than good!" George declares, and the mystery of his sudden disappearance is solved when he hands Maggie one of the two beers in his hands. "She's absolutely perfect."

Maggie can feel her face heating up. Luckily, before she's forced to make a witty quip to deflect what she takes for a lie, Harry makes a face and jokes a complaint at George.

"Hey, what about my beer?"

"And mine?" Kitty laughs.

"I'm goin', I'm goin'," George laughs, waving off their teasing. "You stay put, Mags, I'll be right back."

He leaves them again, but not without planting a quick kiss on Maggie's knuckles, the left hand that blatantly bears his ring. She can feel her face heating up. Not for the first nor the last time tonight, she wonders if she's made an irrevocable mistake in agreeing to this mad plot. George gets a fiancée and points with his friends out of it, and she gets—what? A place at his side at his wedding to another woman and the whatever-it-is she's calling a secret but can't even decide for herself. Her throat gets tight, but she swears she won't cry, not until she's home and alone and this unreal night is over.

"Maggie, was it?"

It's Kitty, looking at her with growing concern. 

"Sorry if I'm being nosy, but are you feeling alright?"

Maggie shifts on her feet, wishing she had pockets or a handbag or really any place to put her hands. She fiddles with her fingers and averts Kitty's well-meaning smile.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine."

"You sure? That's the same kind o' shifty-eyes bullshit-"

"Harry."

"Sorry, love. The same kind of shifty-eyes nonsense I pull when I'm not feeling well." Welsh frowns. "Come to speak of it, I usually come down with a cold this time of year..."

"Oh, no-" Maggie forces a laugh. "-I'm in good health."

But are you heartsick? Kitty asks with her eyes, and as much as Maggie wishes she could hide it, she's never been much good at camouflaging her heart. Just as she's about to mutter some excuse and run away to sit in the car until the reunion is over, George resurfaces. Once he's passed along the second pair of beers to his friends, he wraps his arm around her waist and tucks her against his side as if she belongs there. After a beat, she relaxes, reminding herself who she's doing this for.

"Hope you didn't miss me too long," George says, and when he steals a fleeting kiss on her cheek, he scans her gaze to make sure she approves. She puts on a smile and nudges his shoulder with her own, and his smile grows just enough for her to relax.

"Miss you?" She turns to Kitty and laughs. "I couldn't get rid of him if I tried."

She giggles. "He does seem rather attached."

"Hey," George pretends to complain, "I brought you a beer!"

Maggie giggles. "Oh, darling, you know I'm just as bad about you."

He looks astonished, and Kitty and Harry both laugh, not knowing how she has offered this confession like it's a known fact. George puts on a smirk and winks at his 'fiancée', who doesn't have to fake the blush his affection brings to her cheeks.

"That's right. Who could ever get enough of the one and only George Luz?"

He tickles her waist with the arm he's got around her, and as she almost spills her beer laughing, she has to remind herself he is her best friend and nothing more, no matter how affectionate he is tonight.

"Oh, stop it, you," she protests, pressing herself against his side to get away from his wicked fingers, and he grins.

"You know you love me."

"Uh-huh."

She expects him to drop the matter, but he persists.

"What? You mean to say you don't?"

"Oh, brother. Here we go again."

"Stop the party, there's been a murder—of my heart!"

"Kitty, S.O.S."

Kitty, who has been laughing this whole while, sobers herself up enough to pat Maggie sympathetically on the shoulder and then promptly lapses back into laughter.

"Harry, are you hearing this?" George gasps, clutching his beer to his chest and almost spilling it down his shirt.

"Loud and clear."

"She's trying to turn Kitty against us!"

"You are such a drama queen."

Maggie grins and tips her hand at Welsh. "Thank you. Agreed."

George sighs and droops his head, sipping forlornly at his beer until Maggie gives him a pitying look and nudges a kiss onto his cheek. He lifts his chin and sniffles.

"I hope you know that I, at least, love you."

"I love you, too, George."

Pretending not to mean it is difficult, and when his grin finally returns in full force, she has to look away lest he realizes the truth to her words—or, worse, he gets the idea to confirm their played-up affections with a real kiss. Hiding in her beer, she listens to George chat with Harry about this and that for a minute more before they part ways, her and George going to meet other friends while Kitty and her beau try to find a spot at the packed bar.

"You think they bought it?"

Maggie's smile flickers, but she nudges George's arm and scrunches up her nose at him playfully. "Of course, they did. We're two peas in a pod, you and I."

He beams. "Yup. We go together like peanut butter and jelly."

"Sunshine and summer!"

"Rainstorms and cuddles!"

Maggie laughs. "I dunno about that last one..."

"Pfff." He loops his arm around hers as they walk. "The only good thing to do on a rainy day is cuddle up with blankets and popcorn and a good movie—and especially with good company, if you've got it."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." He shoots her a smile a bit fonder than she expects it to be. "Next time it rains, I'll be sure to call you up."

Maybe this time it's not so unwarranted when her heart gives a tremble.

"I'll bring cookies."

"And I'll pick the movie?"

She quirks a brow. "Just so long as it's not Seven Sinners again."

"What, you didn't like it? I mean, I've only seen it fourteen times, I could go for one more."

"Fourteen?! You've really seen it fourteen times?!"

"Sure have." A cheeky grin. "Viewing number fourteen was with you. And I, for one, wouldn't be opposed if you were there to make it fifteen..."

"Jesus Christ Almighty." Maggie shakes her head. "Watch it again on your own rainy day time, not on mine."

He snorts a laugh. "Oh, fine."

"But hey, if you're gonna watch Meet Me in St. Louis again—don't watch it without me!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, love."

Before she can wrap her head around the new pet name, he's started cheering a name, and he drops her arm (not unkindly) to embrace a trio of men who are all grinning to see him.

"If it ain't George Luz!"

"Babe Heffron! How you been?"

"Good, good. Bill and I joined a pool team." Heffron wiggles his auburn eyebrows. "You oughta see us on a good night—we rock the damn house!"

"Yeah, playin' with my techniques," grumbles another who's grinning just as much as smirking. "Still never got that game from you, Luz."

"That's 'cause I beat you at darts one too many times and you never wanted to play me in anything again, Johnny."

The group howls with laughter, and just when Maggie thinks now would be a good time to slip away and maybe find Kitty again (or a stiffer drink), George steps back and takes her hand.

"Fellas, this is the love o' my life," he says, and when he stumbles on the last word as if realizing what he's just said, Maggie doesn't notice, too caught up in the second use of 'love' in reference to her over the last few minutes. "'Member when I told you 'bout my fiancée back at that poker night last month? I know you couldn't make it, Malark, but I bet one o' these two fools mentioned it sometime."

"Johnny did," chuckles the second ginger of the trio. "Said you talked about her the whole night."

George grins. "Sure did. Drunk and sober."

As the other two grin, remembering the circumstance likewise, Maggie finds the courage to step forward and offer her hand. She means to shake and introduce herself, but her left hand is her dominant, and all eyes go to the ring. The one George has called Malark lets out a low whistle as they all crowd around.

"That is one helluva ring."

"That's a sapphire, right? Pretty."

"You musta saved up for months for that, Luz."

Maggie draws her hand back, self-conscious, only to realize what they're saying is not just complimentary but their honest revelations. Her face feels warm. She thought the ring was just a costume piece George had bought or borrowed from a friend in the theater business (of whom he has many). Knowing he went out of his way to buy a real genuine engagement ring for her—well, for tonight—has her feeling all kinds of ways—but no, she ought to focus, not break the facade. While she's been reeling, George has been telling the story of where he got the ring, and though she regrets missing most of it, she catches the last bit about seeing the ring in a shop in New York City and knowing it was perfect for her. Malark whistles a second time and (perhaps a little belatedly) extends his hand to shake. Maggie, embarrassed enough as it is, almost blurts out an apology when the ring in all its glory grazes his skin.

"Donald Malarkey, ma'am," he says without batting an eye. "Pleasure to meet you."

The other two echo the sentiment (while looking her up and down appreciatively) and she repeats it back to them as she learns their names. Malarkey's fellow redhead is Edward Heffron, who they all call Babe—"'Cept for my girlfriend, funny enough."—while the man with the perpetual smirk to his smile is John Martin.

“Admire while you can, gentleman," George encourages, squeezing Maggie's hand where he still holds it between them. "You'll never see such a beautiful woman again."

Maggie has to put her beer down on the nearest table before she sips at the wrong time and chokes on it. 

"George!"

"What? It's true."

"It is most certainly not true."

Maggie swats his shoulder harder than she means to, but his smile doesn't even falter and he grabs her hand to kiss the finger with his ring on it.

"Says who? Says you? 'Cause if so, you are very wrong, like super-duper levels of wrong-"

"George!"

"Mags!" He bats his big, brown eyes at her, and she melts. "Can't I be proud of my girl, too?"

"He sure can—and should."

"Bull!"

A tall, broad man with a cigar perched in his crooked smile shakes George's hand heartily, then does the same to Maggie, adding a kiss to her cheek for good measure.

"Pleasure, ma'am," drawls the tall man. "Denver Randleman, at your service."

"Charmer," George grumbles, wrapping his arm around Maggie's back, and she wonders for half a second if he's jealous.

"It's a good thing I like the charmers," she teases him, testing the waters, and when his brow bends down, she hurriedly adds, "I wouldn't be marrying you if I didn't."

Immediately, the frown is gone. He lights up like the star map in her living room, the one he nearly knocked over just a few hours ago when he burst into her house with a dozen roses and a cheery promise that he'd make tonight worth it. For the most part, he's lived up to that pledge.

"Marrying him!" Malarkey whistles for the third time that night. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"What?" Maggie chortles. "Did he used to be a- a playboy, or something?"

 Heffron bursts into laughter, and George, a little disgruntled, pushes him into Martin. They have a brief joking spat before tuning back in to what Malarkey's been saying about George.

"-was a bit of a flirt, sure, but honestly? I thought it would take longer for him to find somebody who lived up to his expectations."

"Oh, yeah?"

"He's really a hopeless romantic," Malark goes on, oblivious to the squinted, disapproving look he's currently receiving from George. "But hey, so am I." He raises his glass. "To love!"

"To love!"

They all drink, George and Maggie a bit more than the rest for the same undisclosed reason.

"And thank God he tripped over you," Heffron jibes, nodding to the sapphire on Maggie's finger. "You're a saint for takin' him off our hands."

George grumbles a retort, but then Maggie kisses his cheek, and all his discontentment vanishes in an instant. It doesn't go unnoticed by either of them that this is the first time she's been the one to initiate physical affection tonight. George hands his beer to Heffron and fans himself with his hand, spouting nonsense about how hot she is until she takes him by the arm and drags him away to—as she excuses to his friends—"find a better use for his stamina on the dance floor".

"My beer!"

Grinning, Heffron raises it in a toast and takes a sip—it's his beer now. George pouts, but the look lifts when Maggie bumps his hip with her own.

"You can have mine," she laughs, picking it up off the table, "just stop gushing about how great I am!"

He scoffs. "Now why would I do that?"

"Because, um..."

They've found a spot on the edge of the dance floor, but they can't go out there with the beer still in hand, so they trade it back and forth as they talk.

"Because?" He prompts, his smile turning a little devilish. "You can't even think of a reason."

Maggie makes a face. "I do have a reason."

"Then what it is?"

Passing back the glass as it quickly empties, she leans in and whispers in his ear, coming up with an excuse on the spot. 

"Think of how many guys have brought their girlfriends and wives here."

"So?" 

"You don't wanna offend anybody by saying rash things like that. I certainly don't wanna offend anybody."

"By bein' your pretty self?"

"George," she murmurs, but she's blushing, and there's no hiding it from him.

"Hey, I'm not the outlier here." He nods toward a couple across the room, raising his voice. "Look, Bill's over there showin' off his wife."

The man George refers to is standing with a crutch on one arm and a very pretty, very pregnant woman on the other. Maggie hums under her breath.

"Wow, they sure didn't waste any time once he got home."

George chokes on his beer. Stifling his laughter into snorts as Maggie rubs his back, trying to coax the breath back into him, he gasps, "Guess not."

"Heya."

Malarkey, along with Heffron, has followed them over after a detour to the bar. He glances between the pair, a brow quirked amusedly. 

"What'd I miss?"

"They're flirtin', ya dingus," Heffron reprimands jokingly. "Leave 'em alone."

Maggie's face suddenly feels hot. George sighs, leaning close to whisper a reassuring joke in her ear that's meant for her and her alone. When his breath tickles her ear and she shivers, she wonders if there is some universe where this isn't a charade and he feels a chill when she comes so near. She giggles belatedly, and Malarkey chuckles, sipping at his drink.

"Say, how'd the two of you meet? From what I heard, they tried coaxing it outta Luz the last time some o' the guys met up for poker, but no dice."

"It's not a very remarkable story," Maggie deflects bashfully, and George pouts.

"Aw, c'mon. It's remarkable to me, sweetheart."

"Sorry, darling-" Without thinking much about the familiarity of the action, she draws her thumb across his upper lip, ridding it of a thin layer of foam. "-I guess it is a little bit remarkable."

He beams and pleasantly surprises Maggie when he holds her closer, practically hip-to-hip, his arm snug around her back.

"You know, you really were the talk o' the night." Martin quirks a slight smile. "All good things, of course. 'Luz's wonderful fiancée' and all."

"Of course," Maggie gasps, baffled, and when George kisses her cheek, she turns to him beseechingly. He pats her hand and turns to his buddies with his typical grin.

"We met at Cape Cod last summer, on the beach."

"Right," Maggie breathes. "I remember it like it was yesterday."

Heffron, along with the others, grins. "Yeah? Do tell."

"It was about a year ago—last June."

Maggie glances at George, hoping he'll let her take charge of this lie of theirs for just a minute, just for the part that is completely true. He seems happy to oblige, his smile widening as he nods for her to go on.

"It was a very hot day, so I was out with some friends on the beach. I'd just come in from the water—I like to surf, see—and I was just getting ready to sunbathe when darling George here-" She jostles her pretend beau a little, pleased when it makes him laugh. "-was running to catch a baseball and tripped right over me."

"He what?" Malarkey gasps as Heffron throws his head back in laughter. 

“When I said you tripped over her, I didn’t actually mean it, Luz!"

Malarkey’s laughing now, too. "I knew you were clumsy, George, but holy hell!"

George hits his arm in a friendly punch, mumbling that his balance is just fine, thank-you-very-much, but when he looks back at Maggie, there's an affection creeping into his gaze that surprises her. Sure, they're friends, and they've been friends for a while, but he's looking at her with the kind of tenderness she'd expect him to show to—

To someone he really does want to see walking down the aisle to him one day.

"What can I say?" George quips, taking over when he sees Maggie has hit a standstill. "The minute I saw her-" He lays his hand over his heart. "-I fell."

Malarkey, Heffron, and a newly resurgent Bull Randleman all groan, but when Maggie laughs, they light up with smiles fonder than she expects.

"Wow. Somehow, Luz, you've managed to find the one person who actually laughs at your crummy jokes."

"They're not crummy," George and Maggie chorus, and Malarkey and Heffron share a grin.

"Uh-huh."

"They're not!" George insists with Maggie nodding right along, glancing up and down his face while he's too indignant to notice.

"Fine, they ain't crummy," Heffron concedes. "But hey—what happened next?"

"I took one look at her and told her I was gonna marry her someday."

Maggie can't help a laugh. "I think it went more like 'Sorry for tripping over you, can I marry you? Today?'"

Even Randleman rumbles a laugh.

"And what did you say?"

"No," Maggie admits, stifling her own amusement. "I said no."

"I'm pretty sure you hesitated," George insists, trying to maintain some of his dignity, and though Maggie shrugs mildly, willing to accept this, Heffron is apparently not.

"You sure it ain't 'cause you were helpin' her to her feet after knockin' her clean over?"

Malarkey jumps in on the action. "And then the first thing you said to her was 'sorry, marry me now'—jeez, Maggie, your head must've been spinning."

"It was," she giggles.

"If I'm hearin' this right-" Even Bull inputs his two cents. "-sounds like you were still strangers at that point."

"We were."

"But now," George interrupts, reclaiming the floor, "we're not. In fact-" He wiggles his ring finger as if it's Maggie's, grinning like this story really is the beginning of a happily ever after. "-we're engaged!"

"And congratulations for that!" Malarkey exclaims, beaming. "Say, would you mind if I took your girl for a spin on the dance floor, Luz?" He nods at Maggie. "If you want to, of course."

"Yeah, alright," she agrees, and George echoes the phrase, though a little more breezily than she would have expected. She gives her hand to Malarkey and they step out onto the dance floor, joining the multitude of veterans and their beloveds already two-stepping the night away.

"You sure can dance!"

As her partner twirls her, Maggie laughs. "Thanks! So can you!"

"You think so?"

"Yeah!"

"I'm glad!" He nods over at the other side of the dance floor. "I'm tryin' to catch the eye of the girl behind the bar over there, and my buddy Perconte—he lives kinda local—told me she likes to dance, so..."

"You want me to help you look good?"

Malarkey shrugs, too sheepish to confirm it, and Maggie grins.

"Any friend of George's is a friend of mine!" She clicks her heels, takes his hand, and kicks their dancing up a notch. "All you had to do was ask."

They jitterbug and jive out on the dance floor for a good ten minutes. About halfway through, Maggie twirls Malarkey three times and mutters in his ear with each pass that the pretty girl from the bar is looking their way. He straightens up, shoots her a grin, and dances some of the best swing Maggie has seen in years—not that she would give up George as her permanent dance partner for the world. They even get a small round of applause when the song on the radio trumpets its last riffs, and Maggie pushes at Malarkey until he takes a small bow. In return, he has her curtsy, and when she looks up, her cheeks warm, the first thing she sees is George looking at her from a dart game he doesn't seem all that involved in. There's a gap in the crowd that fills in an instant, but the look on his face has her heading for him immediately.

"Are ya winnin', champ?" she teases, coming to hang nonchalantly off his arm, and he gives her a crooked grin.

"'Course, I am."

A man Maggie doesn't yet recognize lands a perfect shot, and amidst the cheering of other onlookers, he turns to the pair, grinning.

"That'll be one lovely pack o' smokes, Luz."

"Damnit."

Maggie snickers as George puts down his beer to free one hand, and he wrinkles his nose up at her. She kisses the corner of his mouth and he beams until his darts opponent clears his throat.

"Aw, c'mon, Buck, didn't we used to play together?"

"Yeah," Buck chuckles, "used to." He takes his tan cap, the words 101st Airborne emblazoned in white on the front panel, and tips it at Maggie. "Evening, ma'am."

"'Evening, ma'am'," George mimics, fishing the cigarettes out of his pocket, and Maggie laughs as he hands over the goods.

"I'll reimburse you."

He waves her off. "Nah, you don't hafta-"

"Shh," she says, perking up, and when he follows her gaze over to the bar, he tenses up.

"Malarkey? What about 'im?"

"Just watch."

George's shoulders are still stiff, but he complies, and together, they spectate as Malarkey leans on the counter, stalling the pretty bartender. She seems interested, glancing him up and down, and when he jabs his thumb back toward the dance floor, Maggie grabs George's hand and squeezes. 

"What-"

"For good luck."

George goes quiet, leaving Maggie unaware that the thought of his mere self being a sort of good luck charm to her has left him in a real tizzy.

The bartender Malarkey is flirting with glances over his shoulder at the dancers, then back at his smiling face. Maggie squeezes George's hand a second time.

"Moment of truth."

After a beat, the woman sets aside the glass she's been wiping with a dishrag and starts to nod, a smile creeping onto her lips. Maggie doesn't realize she's grinning twice as wide until she looks back at George and sees him visibly ease, uttering a laugh that betrays his relief.

"Didn't think you'd be playing matchmaker tonight, sweetheart."

"And I didn't think we'd be so good at being engaged, so what's the bigger surprise here, darling?"

He blinks at her, whatever tease he'd been about to toss back dying on his lips, and her cheeks heat up.

"Forget I said that."

"Yeah, nope."

"George-"

"Absolutely not forgetting that." His grin is infectious. "You're right, sweetheart, we are excellent at being engaged."

Maggie is still embarrassed, but as he holds her by the hips and sways her a little, her own lips start to turn back up.

"I guess we really do go together well."

"A little too well." His mouth turns up on one side, but his usual confidence is missing from the look, and it catches Maggie's attention. "You know, for a minute there, I was a little afraid Malark was gonna steal you away from me."

She laughs lightly. "Who, little old me? I'm lucky as hell I somehow managed to get you, George, no way I'd leave you in the dust like that. Besides-" She wiggles the fingers on her left hand. "-I'm clearly quite committed."

He doesn't banter back as she expects; in fact, he's fallen completely silent. The seconds pass and her cheeks heat up as he just stares at her, the beer in his hand dripping condensation down his wrist, all but forgotten.

"Don't talk like that," he says quietly, and she glances aside, chuckling awkwardly as she reaches for a counter napkin.

"Right, right, sorry. This isn’t real." She pats his wrist dry. "Where'd you-"

"No, not that."

"What?" She looks between his damp skin and the napkin, confused. "Did you... want your hand to be wet?"

"No, no-" He shakes his head, but she only glances up briefly. "-don't talk like that about you being lucky."

Maggie eases, laughing gently. "Why? I meant it. There ain't nobody out there like my George Luz."

He quirks a small smile, but it's fleeting, and she realizes she's misunderstood him again.

"Thanks, love-" He's frowning, and it makes her sad. "-but it's the 'somehow managed to get me' bit that I'm stuck on."

"... Yeah, I kinda figured that out as you were sayin' it."

"It's not true, Mags. There's no 'somehow' in there. You-"

"Didn't really get you," she reminds him for her own sake more than his, forced to check her overeager heart. "But, uh..." 

"What?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, you're kind of the only guy who talks to me... on a regular basis." She clears her throat. "Who's my friend, I mean."

"That's stupid."

"That you're my friend?"

"That men aren't falling over themselves for you like you deserve."

There's such righteousness in his gaze when she meets it that she can't help but blush and stumble over her words. He takes this as if he's said something wrong and sighs, looking away. After a beat of uncomfortable silence, he turns back to her with a smile plastered on his face and downs the rest of his beer in an impressive swig.

"Wanna hit the dance floor with me?"

She can tell he's faking his enthusiasm, but she matches it, taking his hand when it is offered and letting him lead the way.

"Hey, George?" she asks as he finds them a spot on the edge of the floor, not far from where Malarkey and his pretty bartender are dancing with stars in their eyes.

"Yeah?"

She lifts up her hand only to discover it's still holding George's. They share a brief laugh as they find a rhythm in the music.

"Where did you get this ring, anyway? Was it really in New York City?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He's distracted by something, but what, she can't tell. As they keep dancing and he trips over his feet more often than usual—noticeably so—she starts to worry. Then he almost knocks over another couple and she drags him off the dance floor, brushing off his apologies for windmilling his arms like that.

"I don't know what's gotten into me tonight," he says, and though she can tell it's a lie to make her worry less, she pretends to believe him, only worrying more.

"That's alright—I think I've had enough dancing for now," she replies, pretending she's tuckered out, and he nods, quickly leading her away from the epicenter of the music and chatter. They find a table near the back, one of the only empty ones, and when she sits down, kicking up her feet, she's not surprised that he doesn't join her.

"Why don't you go socialize?" she suggests, deciding that must be what's on his mind.

"You sure?"

"These are your people. Go make 'em realize just how much they've missed ya." A smile as she reaches up and pats his cheek. "You're a real hoot, George Luz. Life o' the party."

He's smiling again, but still, he hesitates. 

"I don't want to just leave you here."

She laughs. "I think me and my aching feet will survive."

A wince. "Sorry about that."

"Don't be." Sincere, her smile grows. "Really, you should go talk to people. That's what we're here for, George—not for this song-and-dance with you and me but for you to catch up with your buddies."

Finally, he gives in, his smile growing where he had not before allowed it to. He leans down, kisses her right on her lips, and as he steps back, he tugs fondly at a loose curl by her ear.

"Thanks, love."

He's gone into the crowd before either of them has realized what he's just done wasn't supposed to happen, and Maggie's startled gasp almost makes her fall backward, chair and all. Kitty Welsh—savior that she is—steadies her and pulls up a chair, but Maggie is so bewildered that she hardly registers Kitty's teasing greeting.

"Hello? Maggie? You with us?" Kitty frowns. "Frannie, did you happen to catch how much this dear's had to drink?"

The very pretty, very pregnant woman that Maggie recognizes as Bill's wife huffs as she lowers herself into the next available seat. "Nope," she replies once she's settled in, "but I know drunk, and pretty Miss Dazed here ain't drunk."

"He kissed me."

Kitty and Bill's wife—Frannie, her name's Frannie—share a look.

"Yeah, honey—is that... unusual?"

"Well, I mean, we're engaged... I just can't believe it."

"Ah." Kitty relaxes. "Young love." 

Frannie rubs Maggie's shoulder, and it's quite soothing, enough so that Maggie snaps out of her shock.

"You're still in the honeymoon phase, aren't ya, sweetcheeks?" Frannie supposes. "Still can't believe you got that happy ending?"

"Yeah," Maggie sighs happily, using the better part of her willpower to keep herself composed and play along with their assumptions. "Yeah, that's about right."

Kitty's smile grows. "That's sweet. You really love him, huh?"

"I do. I really do."

It's such a relief to admit it after all this time that the admission comes out louder than Maggie means it to. She covers her mouth and giggles when the two wives fondly echo the sentiment for their own husbands.

"Bill's a handful, but he's my handful." Frannie giggles. "Not that I'm an angel, either."

"Oh, hush. You're better than he deserves."

"Kitty!" Frannie playfully swats her friend's arm. "What if I said that about you and Harry?"

"Then you'd be wrong."

Frannie rolls her eyes. "No justice for the wed."

"She's married, too," Maggie points out, nodding to Kitty, and Frannie lets out a booming laugh that has her husband grinning broadly at her from all the way across the room.

"I knew I'd like you, sweetcheeks." A small smirk as she reaches over and pats Maggie's hand, the one with the ring on it. "I think you'll enjoy married life."

"Oh, and speaking of," Kitty chimes in, "congratulations!"

"Oh—oh, thank you."

Both women are now beaming at her, and Maggie isn't sure how she manages to keep her chin up and pretend she's really one of them.

"When's the wedding?"

"It's, uh..."

"Late October."

"George!" Maggie clasps her hand to her chest, playing off the shock he's given her as a joke. "I thought you were mingling."

"Yeah, I was, but I missed you."

She blushes, and Kitty and Frannie share a knowing look.

"Well, we'll leave you to it."

They get up and start to leave, and Maggie isn't sure she wants them to. She can't find it in herself to say so, though, so she faces her heart—otherwise known as George Luz—and acts as if he left her with his usual smile and not a very unusual kiss.

"You didn't have to come back so soon-"

She gives a start as soon as she looks up.

"George, what's the matter?"

"Matter?"

"You've gone pale."

"Oh." He glances to and fro. "I... I think I need some air."

She's seen this before. Sometimes the memories from the war will hit him out of nowhere and Mr. Life of the Party will need a minute to himself. She's not surprised it's happened here, with all his buddies from the service, so when he looks at her imploringly, she takes him by the hand and scans the venue for the closest exit.

"Alright. Let's go get some air."

He heads for the back door, and though she tries to tell him it only leads to an alleyway, her words fall on deaf ears. She squeezes his hand, trying to remind him she's right here by his side, where she'll always be, no matter what, even when it hurts to know she can't promise him any of that out loud. He knows she cares, right? She wouldn't be here with him tonight, with this beautiful, damning ring on her finger, if she didn't care.

She just hopes he doesn't see all the way through her. No coming back from that.

The door hasn't finished shutting behind them when George drops Maggie's hand. He leaves her on the stoop, crossing the few short strides to the opposite wall of the alleyway. He leans against the tattered bricks, crosses his arms, and takes a few slow breaths. Patient, she sits down and waits for him to ask anything of her, anything at all.

"God, this was a terrible idea."

She knows what he means as soon as the words are out of his mouth. It still doesn't lessen the sting—but there's no shock to the admission. After a few seconds of waiting for him to go on, maybe to take it back, she leans her elbows on her knees and sighs.

"If it helps at all, I was kind of expecting this to happen."

"Expecting what to happen?"

"You to figure out you didn't want... this." A faint chuckle. "I mean, it was your idea, but sometimes impulsive things like this-"

"Impulsive?"

"Yeah. Impulsive."

"No."

"No?"

"Seven months and one day."

This timespan does not ring a bell anywhere in her memory. She looks up at him, her confusion evident in her expression. He's still leaning on the brick wall, but he's straightened up, and the color is returning to his face.

"Sorry?"

"Seven months and one day. That's how long I've had the ring."

"... Okay?"

She blinks. If there are dots to be connected here, she can't find them. George groans and rubs his face with his hands. Maggie starts to rise, but he shakes his head, and she sits back down.

"So you've had the ring for seven months."

"And one day."

"And one day," she amends. "Is... something about it bothering you?" She curls her hand into a fist and hides the blue gemstone against her skirt. "I can take it off. If anybody asks I can say I didn't want to drop it dancing and put it away for safekeeping in the car."

He's still quiet, and it's so unlike him, so unnerving, that she wants to cry.

"George, it's alright, I'll take it off-"

"Don't!"

"Don't?"

"Please don't," he says, and he's begging, and she doesn't understand.

"Why not?"

"I- I can't see you without it."

She balks. "What? What does that mean?"

Maggie can count the number of times she's left George Luz speechless on one hand. Beholding the terror in his eyes as he gapes at her is the most frightened she's been since the war ended. Steeling the last of her nerves, she jumps up, stamps her foot, and, for the first time since this lie of theirs started, stands her ground.

"Christ Almighty, George, if you don't tell me what the fuck is bothering you so much, I'm gonna go back in there and drag Malarkey away from his pretty bartender for another dance!"

"Oh, please don't do that."

She throws her clasped hands out at him like a last-resort prayer.

"Then tell me what's wrong."

He drops his hands to his sides. They hang there, empty, until she steps forward and takes them to hold. Finally, he draws his gaze up to meet hers, but it doesn't last long before his attention falls to her lips. Twice.

"I want it to be real."

This, combined with how he licks his lips before glancing at hers for the third time, knocks the breath out of her.

"What?" she tries to ask, but all that comes out is a whisper—and worse, her voice breaks.

George takes it the wrong way. He steps back, drops her hands, and presses his back against the bricks as if he can blend in, hide from her there. Unfortunately for him, his shirt is not red but a pale blue. She helped him pick it out not six hours ago. She would have gone with a nice forest green—she thinks he looks especially excellent in the color—but she was worried it would remind him too much of his Airborne uniform, especially today.

"I shouldn't have said that."

She startles back into the moment. They've been staring at each other; only now has one of them (him) broken the silence.

"George-"

"Just- just go back in there and tell them I went out for a cigarette break, they'll get it, they know how it gets, with the nicotine—and jeez, it's June again, did you know Normandy was in June? It must'a been in the papers, you prob'ly read all about it-"

"You really did buy the ring for me, didn't you."

It's not a question. It's all clicking into place; the more he rambles, the more anxious he gets, and the more she hears threaded between his buzzing. Knowing she's come to understand makes him fall silent and look away. She feels as though she can feel his heart beating against her very own. He's afraid. She wants to tell him Don't worry, I am, too, but when she steps toward him, he turns his gaze further away, looking down the long alley at the quiet street. 

"Did you? Buy the ring for me."

He tries to take a deep breath, but it shakes, and they can both hear it.

"George, please."

He nods, just once, but it's enough.

"You bought the ring for me because you actually did want to marry me."

"Did?" He chuckles hoarsely. "Whoever said it was a 'did' and not a..." 

He trails off, but they both know what he almost said.

His voice drops and his head goes with it. 

"God, I really wish I had you- shit, I mean, a smoke right now..."

"A smoke?" she asks skeptically. "You want me to go ask that Buck fella for one for you? I'm sure if I was nice about it, he'd-"

"No!" 

He lurches toward her, then freezes as if he's forgotten he's supposed to be walling himself away from her. He swallows; she watches his Adam's apple bob.

"No?"

"Don't go."

"Alright, then do you want a smoke or do you want me? Because I can give you one of those things, but probably not the oth-"

"You!" he cries, and it's as if the words have been ricocheting around his chest all night, made louder every time his heart skips or flutters. "Always- always you."

He scrunches up his face as if he's trying not to cry, and Maggie drags her knuckles under her eyes, trying to diminish her own tears. 

"Goddamnit," he whispers. "I'm sorry, Mags. I'm real sorry."

She sniffles. When he shuffles a step towards her, it's instinctual; he's quick to retreat again. Finally brave enough, she goes and wraps her arms around him. It takes a moment, but he returns the embrace, a bit clumsily but no less earnestly than he might have yesterday, before this all began.

"I'm sorry, too."

"For what?" He snorts derisively at himself. "What in the hell could you possibly have done that's more insane than buying your best friend a goddamn engagement ring-"

"Falling in love with him the day I met him, how about that?"

He gapes at her.

"You what?"

She sighs. His nose flutters; his breathing is still unstable.

"George, when you asked me to marry you that day on the beach, I didn't freeze up 'cause it was such a startling thing to ask a stranger—even though it definitely was-"

"You didn't?"

"No. No, I froze up because I looked at you, with your big, brown, puppy-dog eyes and your smile all stricken by something that I think might have been awe, and my first instinct was to say yes and marry you on the spot.”

"It was?"

"Yeah, it was." 

Maggie shrugs, running her hands up and down George's arms, hoping to soothe him. Her touch, accompanying her confession, seems to do the trick.

"It took all of five minutes for me to fall in love with you then and I'm still in love with you now. Now, I dunno if that's crazier than buying somebody an engagement ring before you've asked 'em out on a first date... But hey, if our standard here is longevity—whether it be two and a half weeks or seven months and one day—then I'm pretty sure I win."

They share a faint laugh, always watching each other's expression, worried one will frighten the other off if they say just one thing too much.

"Only by a few months."

"Aw, there's that smile." Maggie reaches up and caresses his cheek, and to her continued delight, he leans readily into her touch. "I love that smile."

"Sweetheart?"

"Yeah?"

He turns his head and nuzzles a kiss into her palm, and the warmth that fills her chest is more comforting than he could ever know.

"What was that secret you wanted from me? After this was all over?"

"Honestly?" Her smile turns a little shy. "It was you all along."

His grin falls, and for a moment, she's terrified he's only now come to realize all she's been saying. And yet, he doesn't turn away, he steps toward her, and his lower lip is trembling when he murmurs:

"You really do love me."

"I really do," she confirms, still a little afraid he's going to run despite the ring he's now taking off her finger—

"George? What’re you-"

"I know this might not be the best place, but I wanna do this right before I lose the nerve."

He drops to one knee. She gasps, and again it sounds strangled, but this time, he takes her surprise at its harmless face value.

"Marry me, sweetheart?" He's choking up, she can hear it in his voice just as much as she can see it in his eyes. "Marry me for real?"

"Yes," she whimpers, "yes, I'll marry you for real—but for the love of God, George, kiss me."

He surges up to meet her, and they embrace like they've been waiting an aeon for this moment. It kind of feels like they have, even though they've known each other for only a year. He kisses her dizzy and she returns the favor. His hands on her face, caressing her arms, bunching up the back of her dress at the small of her back to pull her flush against him—it's all she's ever imagined and more. When she twirls a brown curl around her finger and accidentally tugs, he groans into her mouth. She nearly has a heart attack from all the things it—he—makes her feel. When they stumble back into the dance hall, drunk off each other, they beeline first for the bar. A celebration is certainly in order—be it two toasts or ten—and if they get too drunk, someone here will get them a hotel room or a taxi. Maggie spots Kitty and Frannie and breaks away, murmuring apologies when she sees the pout already forming on George's face.

"Meet me over there," she mumbles against his lips, delaying to kiss them several times before making her departure.

"You look happy," Kitty remarks as Maggie floats on over. "Happier, I should say, happier than you've looked all evening."

"I am, and for jolly good reason!"

Maggie's two new friends lean over the table towards her, pleased that she has come to them first with her shiny news.

"Oh, go on," Frannie urges, "Spill the beans!"

"It's George- well, it's both of us, really!" Maggie blurts out, hasty in her elation.

"What about you?"

Triumphant at last, Maggie raises her left hand and shows the ladies that magnificent ring and the real, genuine promise it comes with.

"We're engaged!"

While Frannie looks confused—

"Weren't ya already?"

—Kitty's smile quickly turns knowing.

"Frannie, I think our friends Maggie and George might have been fooling us until, say, five minutes ago?"

George reappears—it seems he has missed Maggie just as much as she has missed him in the forty-five seconds they've been apart—wrapping both arms around her torso and cuddling her to him. Where the drinks he was supposed to get have gone, Maggie doesn't know and doesn't much care.

"More like seven," he mumbles into her shoulder blade, and she giggles, placing her hands over his on her stomach. They sway a bit, and Maggie turns her head to feel his glorious kiss again. He pecks her neck—mostly innocently—and little flares spark fire through her stomach.

"Love you, darling."

"Love you, too, sweetheart."

Frannie looks at the fawning couple, then at a very satisfied Kitty, then back at Maggie.

"We love you, too, Frannie," Maggie giggles, a little delirious. "And Kitty, of course."

Kitty raises her glass in a mirthful toast. "Why, of course."

Frannie shuts her gaping mouth, blinks several times, then leans back in her chair.

"Mhmm. Okay."

She takes a deep breath, then hits the table with a soft open palm, and fixes her incredulity directly on Maggie and George, who couldn't be bothered less.

"What in the flying fuck did I miss?"

#band of brothers #george luz #fanfiction #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers one shot #band of brothers fic #hbo war show #george luz x oc #one shot #george luz fanfiction #hbo war show fanfiction #hbo war show one shot #hbo war show fic #long shot

[gluteus-canis-familiaris]

Band of Brothers (2001) to Au Revoir by OneRepublic (Native, 2013)

curra to the muthafuqin hee, pls enjoy, mwah

#band of brothers #hbowar #easy company #band of brothers edit #au revoir #onerepublic #I just put together two of my favorites in the world im so happy #my biases in this video are apparent im sorry #but every easy boy i wasn't able to include was a literal dagger in my soul #too many beautiful shots so many unused clips #it haunts me #I'd make more edits to use them but this one nearly killed me #only took 11 yrs in fandom and 10 yrs to get this made??? #only consolation is that I beat Masters of the Air LOLOLOL #Youtube

[rebeccapearson]

BAND OF BROTHERS GIF HEADERS 

If you have a request for a certain character/dynamic/scene please ask! You can also include what kind of style you want, and I’ll do my best!

If you want one of the headers below with a different style, just send me an ask with which style you’d like and I’ll do my best to make it for you!

Headers are 640 x 360

Please like/reblog if you use

All headers are under the cut

#bobedit #bandofbrothersedit #hbowaredit #perioddramaedit #band of brothers #band of brothers headers #bob headers #tv: band of brothers #gifs* #headers* #my first headers!! i'm excited!! #these are all group shots because i didn't want to throw one or two random characters in there lol #please send requests :)

[wexhappyxfew]

Helloooo! Hope you're doing well.😊 I just caught your post about wanting to go back to your Landslide era and just wanna say... why not? You can do little prompts, a one-shot, a missing scene, whatever you feel like! Publish it, don't publish it, world's your oyster and you make the music etc. You're not done just because the main story's done!

Thing is, I think writing anything should be about that feeling you described in your tags. That fun feeling of liking your story, adoring these characters, having things sing on the page for you. The love should be there, you know? And for me a lot of the time the love is in keeping things small, in not doing huge projects all the time, and in having a few people to bounce ideas and creative things with. I love that one-shot energy of crafting something I can see the end of! And it creates space in my head for bigger things, too, because the bigger things I do start are ones that bring a lot of joy to the table -- and I can only welcome that joy when I'm not forcing anything in particualr to happen!

Sooooo go back to that era in which you loved your writing fiercely, and try to capture that in a new little seed! 🌼

eva please know you are an absolute gem and one of the kindest people i’ve ever had the pleasure of talking to and that your message has single-handedly made my day :’)))) because you are absolutely RIGHT! what’s holding me back from going back to that fun except truly just myself?!?!

i feel like there’s just so much i can talk about and so much gray area to write in that i could experiment with and just !!!!! ngl this message has made me want to open up the laptop and start writing RIGHT NOW lol! 🤣🙌

natia i’m coming back for you queen 🫡

(please know this message has meant so much to me in such a short span of time between me just reading it and now, and i can’t thank you enough for your constantly kind words bc this made me so happy!!!! 🥺🫶)

#eva you are an absolute GEM i tell you #you are absolutely correct #had a long long day and was super tired and came on and saw this and my mood went ⬆️⬆️⬆️ #i now have so … many ….. ideas?!?! #maybe i’ll do a one shot book?!?! #AU where natia was involved in d-day?!?! #missing scenes?!?! #MY BRAIN NOW IS EXPLODING AHHHHH #band of brothers #bob fic #landslide #*entering my landslide era bc i miss writing natia sm* #also if anyone else is in a weird place like i am right now with feeling this plz read this message :))) #the world is YES #MY OYSTER 😤😤😤

[jelly1799]

Love You Anyway

I’ve had the same two best friends since I can remember.

My dad split when I was two and my mom was a drunk who was never present, but those two, they had come into my life when I needed them most and never left me.

Tae was ten and Kook was eight when they stumbled upon me in the park late one night. My mom had a visitor that evening and made sure I knew not to come home.

I was huddled in the middle of the tube slide trying to hide and stay warm when I heard the two rambunctious boys show up at the park. I knew them both from school but had never spoken to either. I tended to stay alone so no one would find out what was really going on with me.

Everything was going smoothly while they laughed and swung on the swings, but suddenly Kook had come rushing onto the jungle gym and gone down the slide I was hiding in, bulldozing me out of it. I had gone flying out of it, landing harshly on the Astroturf and scrapping my arms.

He was very apologetic as he rushed over to me to help me up, not even once questioning why I was there, but Tae, he had walked over quietly not saying a word. He watched me with a stoic expression on his face, his eyes took in my small form and I knew he could tell something was up.

“What are you doing at the park alone? What are you, like four?” he asked with a small smirk on his lips.

“Tae,” Kook hisses at him and I crossed my arms over my chest annoyed that he wanted to act like I was a baby.

“I’m six just so you know,” I say matter of factly.

“Whatever, why are you here so late?”

“Well, 'cause I can't go home yet,” I say with a shrug and plop myself down on the small rock wall that surrounds the jungle gym.

“Why not?” Kook asks as he sits next to me very closely.

I look down at my lap not willing to answer the question. I knew the rules, stay invisible, don’t draw attention, and don’t open my mouth. Kook nudges my arm and I look up at his kind eyes. They are kids too, what could the problem be? So I tell them…everything.

A six-year-old not being able to go home because her mom was with a visitor did not go over well with them, so the boys snuck me into their house. Tae dug through his drawers until he found some clothes he thought would fit me, while Kook cleared off his bed apologizing profusely for the mess he had.

It was nice, they were nice. They brought me some dinner and then a package of chocolate donuts that I instantly devoured. Kook talked my ear off that night trying to make me feel as comfortable as I could before he crawled into Tae’s bed while I crawled into his. The bed was soft and warm, it smelled like the sheets had just been washed. It was everything I wished I could have but knew I shouldn’t get used to.

So in the early morning sunlight, I crept out of their house and made my way back to my own home. Mom was passed out topless on the couch, hand hanging off the side with a half-full bottle of one of the only men she claimed really loved her. Jose, Jack, and Johnnie the three J’s were a staple in our house.

I gingerly took the bottle out of her hand and put it on the table knowing she’d be angry if it spilled. The man who visited last night was long gone, so I covered her with a blanket and made my way to shower before school.

I walked to school in a daze, knowing it would be the same as every other day, but the teachers didn’t pay me any mind. Mom had instilled in me that I have to look presentable to the outside world.

My clothes were always clean and I always had a shower, so there was no need for them to worry about me. I did often dream though that it would be like the Matilda movie I had seen on TV, a kind teacher would notice me and take me away, but that was wishful thinking.

“Why did you leave, Abigail?” Tae’s mellow voice sounded from behind me and I froze.

“I had to get ready for school,” I answered nonchalantly and his eyes bore into me.

Kook butted in feeling the tension and walked up to me holding out a package of chocolate donuts.

“I brought these for you since you liked them so much,” he said with a toothy grin I found myself returning.

“Thanks, Kook,” I said softly taking the donuts from him happily. He loops his arm around my shoulder and pulled me along to walk to school.

“I’ll bring you some every day, Abby.”

From that day on, we were inseparable. They looked out for me, offering me a safe haven when I couldn’t go home. Tae seemed to be a little harder on me as we grew up, always calling me out on things, but me and Kook were two peas in a pod. He was my partner in crime and I loved them with everything I had. They were my everything…

But you know, when you are not fed love on a silver spoon you learn to lick it off knives.

As we grew up, I looked for love anywhere I could find it. Despite the guys always being there and looking out for me, I kept trying to fill the void inside of me with something or someone else.

First I thought it would be with my middle school science teacher who had taken me under his wing and spent late nights tutoring me so I wouldn’t fail. The late nights turned into small touches and first kisses. Soon followed the promises of love and I found myself falling into delusions. However, in the end, he paid for my first abortion and abandoned me as soon after.

The guys never found out who knocked me up but held my hand as I waited in the clinic for my name to be called. Kook took me home that night and held me all night as I cried and he promised that he would never leave, everything would be alright.

I was a mess after that. I had fallen in love with the idea of love and anyone who showed me the slightest bit of affection. Except the two who were always there for me no matter how many times I fucked up. I moved on from boyfriend to boyfriend, some sweet, some abusive, and some just looking for a fuck.

Both guys stepped in when things would get out of hand, they were always looking after me. Kook beat the shit out of my ex Kyle when he saw him slap me and Tae quickly got me out of his apartment, letting me crash in his room while he slept on the couch for a month until I got myself somewhere else to stay.

I looked for love through drugs and the dealers who promised me that what they were offering would give me exactly what I was looking for. That was my lowest, I had fought with Kook so lost in the euphoria the drugs gave me. I didn’t want to hear him hound me about how I had changed. I pushed both boys out of my life at that point.

Kook stayed away, I knew it was too painful for him to see me like that, but Tae, he never left. He would come every other day with some groceries or hygiene products. He would do some light housework, and make sure I showered and ate some food. He never once yelled at me or belittled me, he would just remind me he was there when I was ready for some help.

That all changed the day he walked into my place and found me half-dead on the couch choking on my own vomit. That was the day Kook decided to join him and it nearly broke them both. Kook froze but Tae jumped into action.

Lifting me up, he sprayed some Naloxone into my nose before shoving his fingers down my throat to make sure I got everything out. Kook dragged me into the shower and held me as I cried.

They never left me alone after that day. Kook questioned me over and over as to why I would do that to myself while Tae quietly watched from afar.

“Don’t you know I love you? That we love you, Abby?” Kook mumbled into my hair as he held onto me tightly.

That night passed out beside me, he was sensitive to every move I made. He bolted right up when I finally dragged myself away from his grip to go to the bathroom. After I explained where I was going he sleepily nodded and laid back down.

Tae had been gone for a few hours saying he had to go do something, but when I stepped out of the bathroom he was just coming through the door.

He gently took my hand and lead me out of the dodgy motel room I was staying in. The cool night breeze blew against my skin as we leaned against the balcony railings. I could tell he had something to say so I nervously broke the ice.

“I’m sorry, Tae. It’s just tha-” I started before he turned his gaze to me and my voice died.

“I could have lost you today, I mean, we could have lost you,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t you know how scared we were walking in on you like that?”

“I’m perfectly okay,” I said cheekily and he looked at me annoyed.

“You can’t keep doing this anymore, Abigail. I have been coming every day just to make sure you don’t kill yourself, but this is too much. You need to stop.”

“What will I have left if I stop, Tae? What am I supposed to do with this overwhelming sadness?” I asked looking away knowing he was right but not willing to accept it.

“You have me. You have us. We have always been here, Abigail. If you are sad, tell us and we will fix it; if you are lonely call and we will come running.”

“What about when you both have had enough? When you stop pitying me and move on with someone you love?” my voice quivers and I can’t stop the tears that roll down my face.

“We will always love you,” Kook's voice thick with sleep said from behind us and I turned to face him. He saw my tears and didn’t hesitate to step forward and pull me into his embrace.

“I’ll never leave you, Abby.”

“I have an idea,” Tae says smiling at me, his full wide boxy smile lit up his face and I felt my heart skip a beat.

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Six years later I’m smiling as I apply Rich Berry Red to my lips before heading out on stage with the two men who are my best friends in the whole world. We are about to perform in front of a crowd of 500 people and, in that crowd, there’s a talent agent that will be our chance to finally hit our big break.

“Berry Red again Abby?” Kook teases me as he drapes an arm around my shoulders keeping me close. His comforting smell of powder soothes my pre-stage jitters and I playfully elbow him in the gut.

“I love this color. It really suits me,” I say omitting the fact that I love it so much because Tae picked it out for me.

“Hmm, I really think a nice peach shade would work for you,” Kook says as he stares at my lips a little too long. His tongue darts out and glides across his lower lip and I quickly pull out of his embrace.

“Uh, sorry,” he says nervously ruffling the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ll see you on stage, beautiful.”

He rushes out of the dressing room leaving me standing there watching as he trips over his own feet in his haste to get away from the awkward situation.

“When are you going to put the poor guy out of his misery and tell him you don’t love him?” Tae’s deep timbre sounds from beside me with a hint of amusement.

“I do love him,” I argue back as I turn to face him crossing my arms under my breasts and pushing them up. Tae’s eyes never stray from my face and I feel my heart speeding up as he steps closer.

“Not the same way he loves you.” Tae holds my gaze and I can’t breathe.

He’s right. Kook had grown into a wonderful man, he was sweet, caring, and funny. He worked out like no one’s business and the tattoos and piercings he acquired through the years only added to his appeal. Women constantly threw their bras and panties on stage at him but never once was he able to make my heart speed up like Tae did.

Kook was my partner in crime, he was the boy I told everything to, the first person I think of in the morning, and the last person I speak to at night. I did love him more than anyone in the whole world but just not romantically.

“No, I don’t, but I do love him,” I say quietly and Tae ducks his head so his eyes meet mine.

“But you love someone?” he asks with a raised eyebrow and I quickly look away.

“Ooo, you do! Who is it, Abigail?” he says playfully and I can’t stop the way my heart flutters.

Tae is always serious, it’s a trait he never quite grew out of but I loved it. He always balanced Kook and I out, he made sure we stuck to plans and that we were taken care of. But every now and again, when it’s just the two of us, he’d relax a little and his silly side would come out. We would laugh and play with each other, he would tease me and it was just another thing I loved about him.

I turn around avoiding him and he grabs my sides to tickle me as I squirm.

“Tell me who it is, Abigail! I need to approve of him if he’s going to be taking a place in your heart.”

He flips me around to face him, both of us struggling to catch our breath from the little tussle. I get lost in his eyes and throw all caution to the wind. Before I can second guess my moves, I close the distance between us and press my lips to his softly.

He freezes shocked by my bold actions, but I wrap my arms around his neck and he groans. His large hands tangle in my hair as he deepens the kiss. His lips devouring mine like he’s a starved man and I’m the meal he’s been looking forward to.

“You,” I whisper pressing my forehead against his, “I’m in love with you.”

“Abigail…he’s my brother, we can’t,” he says dropping his hands, his face full of regret, and I feel my heart starting to break as my panic sets in.

“He will understand, we can explain it to him,” I argue holding his face in my hands.

“It will break up the band.”

“It won’t,” I lean in to kiss him again with all the love I’ve been holding inside. We are both completely lost in the moment and we don’t hear the footsteps that approach.

“The fuck is this?!”

Tae jumps away from me as if my touch burns him and the small crack I was feeling earlier grows even larger. He moves to talk to Kook holding up his hand to stop him in his tracks.

“Kook, it’s not what it looks like, she kissed me an-” Tae starts.

“Don’t! You know how I feel about her. You’ve known since we were kids, Tae! How could you?!” he says angrily.

“I- we didn’t plan it, Kook,” I try to reason with him and he turns to look at me. No anger in his eyes, just sadness.

“I’m done.” he turns and walks out leaving Tae and I.

Tae rushes after him not even bothering to look back at me. When he returns a few minutes later he’s upset and doesn’t want to talk about what just happened.

We wait for Kook to come back but he doesn’t. We go on stage alone that night…

…and for many nights after.

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I saw something that reminded me of him today. I held the silly t-shirt in my hands and just thought of him.

Is he doing okay?

Are things better now?

Does he sleep earlier?

I wish he was still here, it’s hard not to sit in the memories and reminisce. There are so many things I want to tell him.

I miss you.

But I’m learning to be okay with the fact we’re apart now, so I quietly send him well wishes, grab my keys and head out to the studio to meet Tae.

It’s been a year and six months and not a day goes by where I don’t think about him.

                             ═════════•°•◦•இ•◦•°•═════════

“Have you listened to his song?” Tae says as he sits beside me on the couch.

“No…I heard the title and thought I probably shouldn’t,” I sigh and rest my head on Tae’s shoulder.

After that night, Kook cut all ties with us. We went on stage and the talent agent picked us up for his label. We tried to speak with Kook and keep the band together but he refused to speak to us.

Tae took it terribly and when everything was said and done, he explained that he never felt that way for me. That I was like a younger sister to him and that was it. My heart was broken, I lost my person and my first love in a span of a few moments. All that heartbreak led to the success of our first album as I poured all of my feelings into our songs with Tae’s help.

We heard through the grapevine that Kook had been signed to a label on his own and he recently dropped his album but I was terrified. His debut song was a hit, people were eating it up and I knew from the name that it was going to hurt.

“Should we listen together?” Tae offers as he pulls out his phone and I reluctantly shake my head in agreement.

It’s a slow song, with a piano being the only distinguishing sound besides his soft voice. The second verse starts and I break.

Drug fueled fights

Ride your lows and highs

We played it all out

'Til we died

While you were busy breaking hearts

I was busy breaking

I was giving all my love, you were busy taking

Summer haze of summer wine reminded me of better times

But I let you in my heart

So now it's busy breaking

“Tae,” my voice cracks as the song ends and he looks at me with all the sympathy in the world.

“It will be alright,” he tries to reassure me pulling me into a hug.

But it's not. I miss him, I miss our family. I never realized how big of a role Jungkook was in my life ‘til he was gone. When we were signed, all I wanted to do was celebrate with Kook, when we finished our album, I wanted to share with him and know his thoughts, when we were nominated for a BBMA, I wanted him there with me and Tae, dressed in our all black outfits as we had planned, but he wasn’t there.

I spent the next few weeks working on a song. He wasn’t talking to us but maybe if I attracted enough attention, he would hear it. So I sat in front of my computer and nervously started a live and waited as our fans flooded into the chat.

“Hi everyone, how are you?” I greeted and tried to read comments as they whizzed by.

“Tae? Oh, I think he’s somewhere around the house. We finally have a day off so we are relaxing,” I smile at comments, people we happy we were enjoying some time off and wished us well.

“I’m actually here because I’ve been working on a side project and I’m so excited to share it with you all and know your thoughts.”

I quickly pull out my phone from my hoodie pocket and start the instrumental that Tae had made to go with the lyrics I wrote. I clear my throat already feeling emotional but I close my eyes, take a deep breath and let my voice out.

Wrote you a letter

Now that I'm here without you

Hope that you're better

Hope that you found someone new

'Cause I'm getting older

Know that I've changed

And I can't go back now

Nothing's the same

But I won't forget how

You called my name

When I was afraid

And now I'm afraid

Will you remember me?

Will you remember the way that I was?

Will you remember me?

Will you remember the way that you felt when you're next to me?

Will you remember?

Do you remember me?

Do you remember?

Will you remember me?

When I stop I feel the tears threatening to fall and I will myself not to let it happen. I need to end the live so I turn off my phone and give a small smile to the camera.

“That’s just a little something, let me know what you all think, if it gets enough likes I’ll convince Tae to let me add it to the new album,” I playfully wink at the camera and give a quick goodbye to the camera and shut it off.

I hear feet rushing to my room and Tae doesn’t even bother knocking before he comes in and throws himself on the bed beside me.

“Everyone is going crazy Abigail,” he says handing me his phone.

#WhoHurtAbby is trending along with #RememberMe.

“Do you think he will see it?”

“There’s no way he won’t. The people already love it and there are so many theories already about who it could be about.”

“I don’t care what anyone else thinks, Tae. I just want Kook to hear it and maybe reach out to us,” I say as I snuggle next to him laying my head on his chest.

“Me too. Hopefully, he will,” Tae sighs out as he leans down to press a kiss to the top of my head.

The weeks pass and the record label insists we add the song to the new album after it blew up all over the internet, but Kook never reaches out.

                            ═════════•°•◦•இ•◦•°•═════════

“He released a song on SoundCloud,” Tae says walking into the studio. I rush out of the recording booth and hover over Tae’s phone as he pulls the song up.

It’s titled me & ur ghost and sits at 3 minutes and 21 seconds. The song starts with a funky beat that’s always been right up Kook's alley.

Tell me what I'm supposed to do with all these pictures on my iPhone

Even all them videos, only you and I know

You never cared about me, you just care about the likes though

Every time you pop up, you should see my fuckin' eye roll

I can't even kick it with the homies that we both know

I can't even fuck with any places that we used to go

Now all I got is just the memories of us, though

Burn it all down to the ground with your ghost

I'm not alone

It's just me and your ghost

And this cripplin' depression

I thought I learned my lesson

But, I threw out my phone

And I burned all your clothes

And now I'm not alone

It's just me and your ghost

“I guess it's safe to say he’s still angry,” Tae tries to say with a small smile but I find it in me to smile.

I never realized how much I had hurt him, I never thought of him in any other capacity except friendship. As the years have gone by without him, I can’t help but realize how empty I feel without him.

But I see now there’s nothing I can do to get him back. I just want him to know I still love him and I miss him.

“Tae you remember that song I didn't wanna put on the album 'cause it was too personal?”

“Yeah…” he says skeptically.

“I want it to be the debut song for the album. I don’t care what the company says,” I say pulling out my flash drive and plugging it into the system.

“Are you sure? You know what it’ll mean to him.”

“It’s gotta end and I can’t keep beating myself up for how I felt at the time,” I argue and Tae nervously agrees with me.

“Okay, then I want to do the first half of the song, I think you resonate best with the second verse. Then the last chorus we can come in together?” Tae suggests leaning over my shoulder messing with the mix a little.

                             ═════════•°•◦•இ•◦•°•═════════

Our song was a hit, the fans ate it up and I felt like I had said my piece. Tae and I had been nominated for a Grammy and we got to perform. Kook was here too, he was up for one also, but didn’t spare us a look.

It hurt when I noticed him across from us at another table. I wanted to go up and say hi, tell him how much I’ve missed him, and congratulate him on his album, but when our eyes finally met, he quickly turned away and I felt my heart shatter.

“Just go and tell him you love him,” Tae whispers to me and I shake my head no.

“It’s too late now, I messed everything up. Plus I’m a mess, I’ve never been good enough for him, or you for that matter. I dunno how you guys put up with me for so long,” I sigh out and nervously pick at the sequins on my dress.

I had come to terms with the fact that I was in love with Kook months back. What I felt for Tae was puppy love, what I thought I wanted in a partner. As I went on without Kook, however, it became all too clear that he was the person I truly wanted. It was him who was my other half, he was the one I wanted to share all my ups and downs with. I realized it too late…

“Don’t do that,” he says harshly and I look at him surprised.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that, Abigail. You were dealt a shit hand and did the best you could, we aren’t better than you in any way and we stuck around because we love you.”

“I love you too, Tae,” I whisper and hug him tightly only to catch the cameraman zooming in on us.

“It’s time for us to go get ready,” Tae says pulling away and taking my hand to lead us backstage.

I switch into my stage outfit and wait in the wings while Tae stands on the opposite side waiting for his cue.

“All right everyone, now the performance we have all been waiting for. Please welcome to the stage, Abby & Tae,” the announcer says and the crowd applauds loudly.

Tae walks out, a lone spotlight on him as the mist fills the stage. The crowd is quiet as his deep voice lets out the lyrics that are also close to his heart. The stage goes dark and I rush out to my mark and let my voice out softly before the spotlight hits me.

Oh, the future we dreamed of is fading to black

Oh Oh, there's nothing more painful

Nothing more painful, oh-Woah

I start to imagine a world where we don't collide

And it's making me sick, but we'll heal and the sun will rise

If you tell me you're leaving, I'll make it easy

It'll be okay

And if we can't stop the bleeding

We don't have to fix it, we don't have to stay

I will love you either way

Ooh-ooh, it'll be oh, be okay

Tae’s voice joins in with mine as we sing the last of the song, the stage bursts into bright light as we both sing with all the emotion we have. When we are done, the audience stands clapping for us and I find my eyes darting to Kook’s table only to see he isn’t there. I instantly start crying and then Tae rushes over to hug me tightly, the crowd cheers even louder.

I find it hard to continue faking my smile as the night goes on, I never see Kook go back to his table. Tae and I won our nomination and all that is left is Record of the Year. Kook, Tae, and I are all up for it and I nervously hold Tae’s hand as the announcer lists the nominees.

“And the winner for Record of the Year is…” the announcer draws out as he opens the envelope. “Jeon Jungkook with Breaking Hearts!”

I stand happy for him, clapping enthusiastically as I watch him stride onto the stage wearing a different suit than earlier.

“Wow! I mean like, I didn’t even think there would be a chance that I would win. Breaking Hearts is such a personal song for me and I’m so thankful for the fans who were able to connect with it. I wanna thank my team for all their support and my fans, but there are two other people,” he clears his throat and I grab Tae’s hand.

“No one knows this but my brother and my best friend are here today. I wouldn’t have pushed myself so hard to make this album if it wasn’t for them. They made me who I am today so…Tae, Abby, thank you! This is for you guys too,” he says and the crowd turns to us and we both start clapping loudly for him, ignoring the curious looks from everyone else.

A stagehand rushes onto stage taking the trophy from Kook and handing him a guitar. He smiles at the crowd and holds the mic close.

“I was supposed to perform Breaking Hearts tonight but there’s been a change in plans. This is a new song for the girl I never stopped loving,” he makes eye contact with me and I feel my heart race in my chest as he starts to sing.

Through the storm in your head, let me be your shelter, yeah

Put your heart in my hands and your hand on my shoulder

Oh, 'cause when I'm looking at you, I can see forever

So go ahead, go ahead and tell me I shouldn't love you

Tell me I shouldn't fall

Show me all of your scars and the beautiful parts that you call your flaws

Tell me I shouldn't be here

But I don't care what you say

Darling, watch me, watch me, watch me love you anyway

“Go backstage,” Tae whispers as he pulls his hand away from me

“I can’t,” I mumble out and Tae chuckles.

“If you don’t go backstage right now all my hard work will be for nothing,” I turn to look at him confused and he just smiles at me.

“He got in contact with me after ‘It’ll be okay’ dropped. He apologized and we worked things out, and then I helped him plan for tonight. Now hurry up and go backstage before the song finishes,” Tae shoves me gently away from our table and I start rushing to see him.

I make it there and can hear the announcer giving the closing speech. I look around for Kook but he’s nowhere to be found. I frown thinking maybe he’s changed his mind, he’s probably thought better about being with me.

“Why would you be frowning when I just told the whole world I’m in love with you?” I hear Kook beside me, and my head whips to face him.

“Kook…” I breathe out nervously.

Now that I’m faced with him, I Have no idea what I’m meant to do. He watches me nervously fidget but then I feel him grab my hand and pull me into his embrace. The smell of powder engulfs me and I feel my body relax as his warmth surrounds me.

“I’m so sorry, Kook! I’ve missed you so much,” I mumble into his chest as he holds me close.

“I’m sorry, I let my feelings get the best of me. I let it, make me bitter and angry and keep me away from you two. I’ve missed you more than you could ever know,” he says against the top of my head.

“I have something for you,” he says gently and takes my hand, and leads me back to his dressing room.

He ruffles inside his bag before telling me to close my eyes and hold out my hands. I do as he asks, and feel a light weight in my hand. When I open my eyes, I see a small package of chocolate donuts, just like the ones he would give me when we were kids.

I laugh at the silly gesture that means everything in the world to me. Then look at the man standing in front of me who has known me almost my whole life, who has seen me at worst but never left me behind. The man who was part of all my highs in life and held my hand in my lowest lows. The man who knew all my ugly and my faults but still loved me despite it all.

“Jungkook,” I draw his attention back to me and hold his gaze. “I love you too.”

                              ═════════•°•◦•இ•◦•°•═════════

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